lionel.denny(Verse 1)
In the fields of fair Poit-iers,
The morning broke so still,
The French king rode in splendour,
With knights of iron will.
But England’s Black Prince waited,
With archers in the glade,
A lion cub with cunning teeth,
And traps already laid.
(Chorus)
Oh, arrows flew like starlings,
And lances met with cries,
The flower of France was trampled
Where the fallen noble lies.
Raise a cup to fortune,
And the chaos w*r can bring—
For the prince won more than glory:
He captured France’s king!
(Verse 2)
King John rode bold and brazen,
His banners high and proud,
But English longbows sang their song
And scattered forth the crowd.
The knights charged up the hillside,
Their armour gleamed like flame,
But mud and b***d and English steel
Soon ended France’s game.
(Bridge)
No ransom could restore the pride
That shattered on that field,
Though gold would change hands later,
The wound would never heal.
A king in chains, a nation shamed,
The Hundred Years rolled on,
But bards still sing of Poitiers,
Where chivalry was gone.
(Final Chorus)
Oh, arrows flew like starlings,
And lances met with cries,
The flower of France was trampled
Where the fallen noble lies.
Raise a cup to fortune,
And the chaos w*r can bring—
For the prince won more than glory:
He captured France’s king!