My son is a lancer, his sword-arm is long,
C G Am
O'er rivers and moors he will roam,
C G
But the crops and the harvests they'll still be growing strong,
C G Am
When the Knights of Summer come home.
G Am
To win at the lists,
C
And to win in the field,
G
In search of the glory that battle may yield,
C G Am
All questing for honour,
Am
And questing for truth,
Em
So why do I wish him back under my roof?
Am Em E
My son is a lancer, his sword-arm is long,
O'er rivers and moors he will roam,
But the crops and the harvests they'll still be growing strong,
When the Knights of Summer come home.
He's a fine sword of steel,
With pommel of gold,
And where e'er he goes my son's sigils shine bold,
All clad in fine armour,
Of silver and black,
So why am I fearful my son won't come back?
My son is a lancer, his sword-arm is long,
O'er rivers and moors he will roam,
But the crops and the harvests they'll still be growing strong,
When the Knights of Summer come home.
He's brave and he's honest,
He's gentle and true,
And all knights who face him, that day they will rue.
But battle is fearful,
With the Stranger's harsh cry
And I want to see my son again e'er I die
Yes, my son's lancer, his sword-arm is long,
O'er rivers and moors he will roam,
But the crops and the harvests they'll still be growing strong,
When the Knights of Summer come home.
I just pray that my son will come home.