— Power is a curious thing, my lord. Are you fond of riddles?
— Why, am I about to hear one?
— Three great men sit in a room. A king, a priest and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who lives, who dies?
— Depends on the sellsword.
— Does it? He has neither crown nor gold nor favor with the gods.
— He has a sword, the power of life and death.
— But if it's swordsmen who rule, why do we pretend kings hold all the power? When Ned Stark lost his head, who was truly responsible? Joffrey? The executioner? Or something else?
— I've decided I don't like riddles.
— Power resides where men believe it resides. It's a trick, a shadow on the wall. And a very small man can cast a very large shadow.
The most interesting plants grow in the shade.
Our wistful little star
Was far too high
A teardrop kissed your lips
And so did I
Now when I remember spring
And every little lovely thing
I will be remembering
The shadow of your smile
Your lovely smile
And our bodies are tired, our shadows will dance.
I am just an image of something so much greater
I am just a picture frame, I am not the painter.
Speak silence! You're just walking shades
Go away, back into your mental cage
Live silence! Keep your demons locked
in your mouth, and your head, go away
Speak silence!
There´s no cure for your disease
Denn Du bist Mensch, and humans never learn
Live silence! I pierce my bloody knife
in your mouth, and your head, in your veins.
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then I walk alone.