THE FALL OF LISBON

One thousand one hundred and forty-seven... From the northern hills a king rides south. Before him — Lisbon. Behind him — Portugal. Santarém has fallen in the night, Now Lisbon stands within his sight. The banners rise, the armies come, The king of Portugal beats the drum. Across the sea the crusaders sail, Steel and fire, wind and gale. The Tejo fills with ships of war, And thousands gather at the shore. Four months of blood, Four months of pain, The walls stand proud beneath the rain. But hunger grows behind the gate... THE CITY WAITS ITS FATE! LISBON WILL FALL! Beneath the iron sky! LISBON WILL FALL! The old walls have to die! AFONSO HENRIQUES! Raise the banner high! The Lion of Portugal Will never kneel or die! Catapults roar against the stone, Steel and fire shake the throne. The defenders fight, but food runs low, There is nowhere left to go. The Tejo is blocked, the gates are sealed, The city will never yield. From every tower the battle cries, While smoke and fire fill the skies. Twenty-fifth of October... The gates are broken. The walls have fallen. The banner of the king rises above Lisbon. LISBON HAS FALLEN! And Portugal will rise! LISBON HAS FALLEN! A kingdom claims the skies! AFONSO HENRIQUES! The first king of the land! With sword and crown together, He made the kingdom stand! THE KING WHO TOOK LISBON! THE KING WHO FORGED THE NAME! From the mountains to the sea... One king. One sword. One kingdom. PORTUGAL! - Rogério Fernandes