The Burning Ship

Flames against the darkness, smoke is rising from the deck.
Our king goes to the water, and we bow our heads in respect.
And we bow our heads in respect.
The current drags him further from the rocky shore.
His face is pale and silent; he won't speak no more.
We stood beside him, bleeding on a hundred fields.
He never asked for mercy; never once would he yield.
The fire catches quickly, spreading mass to bow.
The heat comes back to warm us, even from here now.
The sea reflects the burning like a second sun.
We watch until the timber and the man are one.
The smoke ascends in spirals, twisting toward the stars.