I know not the tale
Of a Knight who calls himself the last
Just the stuff told over ale
Remnants of the past
There was another Knight
Who rode Rocinante
To fight for Dulcinea
The Beatrice to his Dante
He'd lift his odd lance
Throw down his gauntlet
With evil he would dance
And hurt for being dauntless
Tilt he would
At giants crushing grain
No matter where he landed
He would lay in pain
He returned to his home
A palace of delusion
To see his books were burned
Reckoned an illusion
There's no happy ending, really
The Knights life is agony
If not on Crusade
He'll be sent to sea
To reckon with the tides
The fates that cause disorder
Fortuna shall elude him
For he cares not to move a border
He'll never gather riches
That much can be told
Errand missions end in ditches
For gain he isn't bold
I don't know his story
or what the last knight's done
Has he fought fight's gory?
Has he ridden for the sun?
Where did this knight journey?
To the north or to the west?
With whom did this knight tourney?
The noble? The best?
What I can tell you
By the man of La Mancha
In the end a night won't rue
The day he strode to Menorca
To believe in something pure
To fight the evil of his time
To dream of love which endures
To not just be another mime
Muming in the dark
Looking for a kick
Searching for an empty spark
To light a little wick
Few want to be a Knight
Or have a Knight's desire
To show the world the right
And more good deeds inspire
So press on Holy Fool
Be our staunch reminder
To dream pure dreams
Disregard the cynic's blinder
Of a Knight who calls himself the last
Just the stuff told over ale
Remnants of the past
There was another Knight
Who rode Rocinante
To fight for Dulcinea
The Beatrice to his Dante
He'd lift his odd lance
Throw down his gauntlet
With evil he would dance
And hurt for being dauntless
Tilt he would
At giants crushing grain
No matter where he landed
He would lay in pain
He returned to his home
A palace of delusion
To see his books were burned
Reckoned an illusion
There's no happy ending, really
The Knights life is agony
If not on Crusade
He'll be sent to sea
To reckon with the tides
The fates that cause disorder
Fortuna shall elude him
For he cares not to move a border
He'll never gather riches
That much can be told
Errand missions end in ditches
For gain he isn't bold
I don't know his story
or what the last knight's done
Has he fought fight's gory?
Has he ridden for the sun?
Where did this knight journey?
To the north or to the west?
With whom did this knight tourney?
The noble? The best?
What I can tell you
By the man of La Mancha
In the end a night won't rue
The day he strode to Menorca
To believe in something pure
To fight the evil of his time
To dream of love which endures
To not just be another mime
Muming in the dark
Looking for a kick
Searching for an empty spark
To light a little wick
Few want to be a Knight
Or have a Knight's desire
To show the world the right
And more good deeds inspire
So press on Holy Fool
Be our staunch reminder
To dream pure dreams
Disregard the cynic's blinder