Rural Juror

in the forest i sit, tending my wounds
i lay my head down try to hold onto
the reins of my horse have long since departed
my tired, tired hands
i’ll sleep when i’m dead

the ground runs blood red, i try to defy my sleeping heart
my eyes close their last:
Tirel, you’ve won
the English will fall,
their army’s no match for the north men you know
i’ll sleep when i’m dead

where did i go wrong? no song to be sung
this new forest night hands me the keys to the light

and i’ll sleep when i’m dead because i’m Rufus the Red