A heart once strong and pure as gold was tempered through his battles bold. With strength of faith, and skill of sword he fought to route the savage horde. His glory shone throughout the field as foes were rocked upon his shield. His swagger gorged on blood and bone 'til pride succeeded honor's throne. Now half consumed by zealous rage his golden heart was locked in cage. Dark shadows loom within his mind To reason and mercy, his eyes are blind. With haste he takes unto his mission the self-indulgent inquisition No rest he takes until at last, falls silent each iconoclast. The work of God goes unimpeded the headsman's quota far exceeded. The light of dieing eyes all fade, as martyrs are christened by the blade. Now fear gives rise to hate unbound and the persecuted cries resound. Justice demanded for one and all, the tyrant hero from grace, shall fall. With weary eyes and heavy heart the chains of pride are torn apart. But far too late, this revelation for certain now is his damnation. The justice sought is quick at hand his deeds of glory they disband. Accepting now, his timely fate one final prayer he silently states. Born of the earth, and now returned his body battered, broken, burned. Who was once a hero, rightly earned Is now a memory, rightly spurned. Let all who hear this tale take heed that even those of heroic deed, can soon, to pride, be fast controlled 'til golden hearts become fool's gold.