The White King is back on his horse lumbering through the land

Up and down the steepest hills he clambers hand in hand

With caution and fear on every side he rules his psyche down

Face crumpled and vexed as he stands on the dark side of town.

He stands his foot akimbo and looking grim and pale

Breathing in and breathing out inhale – exhale

Life grabs him by the throat and attends each breath

Stalking him down the road to a desperate death.

Who will judge this moral frame

Justify and exonerate the filthy game

That stalks his steps and hides his fear

Neither friend nor foes stands close and near?

Still he stands, not wanting to move or try

All the chariots and horses pass him by

For life is grim and the price is too high

She leaves him standing as the charger rides by.

Never to see the fog of the day

Out of love forever will stay

Until the day clears and the bright beams pass on

To the palace of light where she waits upon

The Black King so high and lifted up

Her rescuer and the sharer of her royal cup.