1187

Forge ahead
To desert lands
The Kingdom’s fate
Jerusalem is in our hands
A steady stride
to barren plains
around us ride
Death heralds from the Saracens
To the Horns of Hattin
God’s best men were sent
To expel their final breath
for the Holy Land
Arid plains
dreary men
searing heat
Kismet is at hand
The True Cross high
The crowd proceeds
Tiberias nigh
Saladin’s lure under siege
Dusk draws near
there’s no retreat
no water here
the Mamluks sense the Frank’s defeat — that night
«Lord God. The battle is over! We are nothing but dead men, and the Kingdom is
finished!»
As night fell on the frankish encampment, the only relief brought onto the
Crusader army was a short rest from the relentless heat. Cut off from water
resources, they listened to the Muslim warriors spurring each other all night,
from anxiety to confidence of victory. In the morning of July 4th, 1187,
thousands of dispirited christian men set to rise together with the burning
sun.
Gathered ‘round
The King’s red tent
the True Cross lost
the last 150 men
Fierce attacks
demise abound
the King’s tent falls
victorious clamor all around
At the Horns of Hattin
The Lord’s best men were spent
perished for Jerusalem
bleeding their lament
Noblest Knights
on their knees
their necks bent
Kismet is at hand