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There are some who are born distinguished

There are some who are raised in praise

But him he was always the last in line

A blot in his father's gaze

No cheekbones chiselled on a feline face

No skill or savvy with a sword

But this game we all play is won in wily ways

And sly is this littlest lord

Cruel tricks of romance

Degraded by their spite

You snub your cub too many times

You just might feel his bite...

Beware beware of the words he twists

he is small but his reach is long

And the ravens black against the winter's mist

Are whispering the halfman's song

Whispering the halfman's song...

The land is a blooming orchard

With fruits so juicy and ripe

With a clink of a coin loose the lion's loin

Play a tune on the half man's pipe

In the arms of a whore he made a promise

Sinking deeper into danger every day

Cut through all their shit with a brazen wit

Moulding puppets from their minds of clay

He's no man of honour

Himself is my true king

But somewhere deep within him

The bells of conscience ring

Beware beware of the words he twists

He is small but his reach is long

And the ravens black against the winter's mist

Are whispering the halfman's song

They're whispering the halfman's song...