He stood upon the last

Bastions of the place

Looked out on the ruins

With thunder in his face.

An introverted spectacle

In the flowers on the rocks

The daisies on the ramparts

Blowing free.

His heart was divided

Clouds gathered in the sky

The belfry made of wood and steel

Was silenced in it's cry.

Something must have happened

What, he wouldn't say

But shown within

The wider lens of history.

[Chorus]

His mission the transmission

Of technology.

One cannon trained upon the church

This one caught his eye

To keep the bishop in his place

He muttered with a sigh.

His mood was melancholy

His attitude severe

His inner burden

Weighed upon him mightily

A bird as never seen in books

Flew in overhead

A kind of dove it might have been

But not a sound was said.

All the ancient knowledge lay

In pieces on the ground

The cause of all his suffering

Was not for love of me.

[Chorus]

His mission the transmission

Of technology.