In the early dawn the Bishops' men 
Shivered in the damp 
But the shiver came not from the cold 
And spread throughout the camp 
The trembling horses sensed the fear 
Of silent thoughtful men 
Who prayed that wives and families 
Might see them once again. 

The bishops sent a dawn patrol 
To investigate the weight 
Of forces at the King's command 
Ensconced behind the gate 
The ground mist hid the patrol's approach 
As they drew close enough to show 
The sentries on the battlements 
And an archer drew his bow. 

From the topmost tower a sentry fell 
As an arrow pierced his skull 
And his headlong flight into the moat 
Seemed that of a gull 
The patrol reported little 
There was nothing much to see 
But the strong and silent castle 
A symbol of the free. 

The King's men took communion 
As the first rays of the sun 
Lit up the castle's gloomy walls 
The fatal day begun 
From the castle green the rooks took flight 
To the high trees in the east 
To their carrion minds the battlefield 
Set a table for a feast. 

A tide of black, the Bishops' men, 
Equality their right 
Swarmed like ants across the hill 
Their aim at last in sight 
The King's men dressed in purest white 
Were driven back by force 
And the fighting grew more violent 
As the battle took its course. 

The Bishops gave the order 
No mercy to be shown 
The sacrifice will reap rewards 
When the King is overthrown 
The sight of children lying dead 
Made hardened soldiers weep 
The outer walls began to fall 
They moved towards the keep. 

The rooks surveyed the battlefield 
Their hungry beady eyes 
Revelled in the sight of death 
Showing no surprise 
The pressure mounted steadily 
As the Bishops neared the gate 
And the desperate King called to his knights 
"It's your lives or the State". 

When the anxious King began to fail 
As many thought he might 
The Queen ran screaming round the walls 
And urged the men to fight 
The Bishops' men were tiring 
As the afternoon drew late 
And the King's men lowered the drawbridge 
And poured out through the gate. 

They fought their way across the bridge 
The men like falling leaves 
Or ears of corn that fall in swathes 
The vicious sickle cleaves 
The tide receded up the hill 
The waste of reclaimed land 
Once decaying swamp became 
A shore of pure white sand. 

A blinded priest was seen to bless 
Both dying and the dead 
As he stumbled around the battlefield 
His cassock running red 
If uniform were black or white 
His eyes could never see 
And death made no distinction 
Whatever man he be. 

As darkness fell both camps withdrew 
Their soldiers slain like cattle 
Leaving the rooks to feast alone 
The victors of the battle 
At evensong both camps reviewed 
Their sad depleted ranks 
As survivors of the battle 
Gave God their grateful thanks.