An opaque full moon filled the indigo sky

And the stars stood still with a glorious outcry

Across the crystal lake

Upon benches of wood and twigs

The body of the King laid

Upon oil infused hay and sticks

An arrow of blazing light shot through the night air

Perfected aim found its way into his breastbone

As they all stood like statues of stone in prayer

If only they premonitions of the gypsy were adhered

The King of Pentacles would have been spared