The Swan's Song

My days are over,
No longer will I fly,
For I touched the silver apple
So here I lie
O great Fisher King,
Master, good bye
I have done as you asked
Now hear my poor cry
O Weaver of Veils
Raise my soul up high
May I not be forgotten
By the servants of the sky
My days are over
No longer will I fly,
Oh Lord of the mists,
Remember me when I die.