But there’s time in me for another war,
And there’s time in me for more,
Where the trees stand, wither and blossom,
And the nighttime’s at my door.
Where the shades have taken over time’s rule
And left in me the trace, you
Call with golden horns of tar and threaten them
And put them in their place too.
You the soldier who knocked at the door
And refused to fight the war,
Who withered the queen’s crown and bore her down
You come and her woe bore.