“I wrote this song for my son when he was very, very little. It would be, however, that he hated being sung to sleep, so I’ve never actually sang it to him as intended, save once when he was too sick to protest.”
close your eyes my little boy
dream of running, dream of joy
and listen to the truth I sing
Every man may be a King
Every man may be a King
the pauper lad in tattered cloak
the vintner boy who corks the the oak
the tavern lass who stirs the broth
and merchant’s son who cuts the cloth
if their duties they each mind
then a Knight may choose to bind
to his service their working hands
be they yet too small for lands
so
close your eyes my little boy
dream of running, dream of joy
and listen to the truth I sing
Every man may be a King
Every man may be a King
taking up the gallant sword
holding close the heavy board
roads to tourneys long they roam
defending honor of their home
final battle, one to one
of the two the victor comes
to rule the land in peaceful war
as did the kings and queens of yore
so
close your eyes my little boy
dream of running, dream of joy
and listen to the truth I sing
Every man may be a King
Every man may be a King
though now you at your mother cling
someday you may be a King.