Now Lancelot, he was the finest
with long hair like Custer's...
he smells of old castles with dragons and mustard, and meanwhile
some rock star, he spins on my record,
and growls like a drunkard too young for the bars.
Tonight I'm alone with the stars.

Now Guinnevere was three years his senior,
with eyes like a lemur, and hair over shoulders like sunshine in charcoal, and meanwhile
the fiddler and scribe discuss love
like two cats discuss doves or two anteaters ants.
Tonight we're in love with romance.

      The Moon was a sicle,
      it hung like an apple peel;
      dangling, uncertain, unhappy, and meanwhile...

Young Lance cut his hair and his lady cut classes.
They rode to her lair where she throws off her glasses and fashions, and meanwhile
the scribe rides his mare up the coast singing airs,
where he dances with girls at the fair,
and turns to find nobody there.

Currently there's no recording of this song on the site. Come to Bowfest and maybe I'll play it for you!