In a village green the bell tolls.

Many hear, but none heed its call

For all around dead men lay

In tall castles Lords and Knights scheme

In pursuit of their blood red dream

And who can know what they say?

Because in the morning bright and clear

Only the poor, dead men can hear.

And those men? They can't cry nay!

In a fold a cold shepherd lies.

His crime? Innocence. Yet, he dies.

His the price small men pay

When tall men want to play at war

It is the poor who find Deaths' door

Kings do not keep the dark at bay

When the Game of Thrones is played.