Lyrics of Death of king arthur

(boris grebenshikov/sir thomas malory)
Of lancelot du lake
Tell i no more
But this by leave
These ermytes seven.
But still kynge arthur
Lieth there, and quene guenever,
As i you newyn.
And monkes
That are right of lore
Who synge with moulded stewyn
Ihesu, who hath woundes sore,
Grant us the blyss of heaven.
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