Lanercost - Steeleye Span

The priests go down to the river to fish for Friday’s meal

The King is brooding day and night

Black with hate, cursing fate

To be ill when the foe is in sight

The priests they kneel in the chancel in solemn peaceful prayer

The King is laughing, grim and slow

Three brothers die, he hung them high

On a gibbet they died a cruel show

Kyrie eleison

The priests they crouch o’er their books and scratch away at history

The King he rises from his bed

Leads his men, rides again

But before he sees the border he is dead

The priests they walk in procession with the coffin of state

The King he leaves his work undone

It is his fate, despite his hate

That his foe lives on to fight his son

Kyrie eleison

Christe eleison