Lyrics:
Rick Wakeman

Whose pullet out this sword From this stone and anvil Is the true born King of all Britain Upon a New Year's day a host of knights did pray That from

By Wart the king of Merlin Struck foot most far before us His birds and beasts supply our feast And his feats our glorious chorus Never shall man take

Fight, fight, fight, fight Excalibur the sword of right Lancelot you rise a knight Many quests will soon be fought To win your place in Arthur's Court

Brownish hue dictates my eye no color hides their fear Flowers faded dull and cold now bleached by atmosphere Creatures twisting under trees, huge monsters

Five days out on an infinite sea They prayed for calm on an ocean free But the surface of the water Was indicating some disturbance The raft was hurled

Translation: Wakeman, Rick. The Forest.

Translation: Wakeman, Rick. Recollection.

Translation: Wakeman, Rick. Out There.

Translation: Wakeman, Rick. Myths And Legends.