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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