- cifra
And who are you, the proud Lord said
That I must bow so low
Only a cat of a different coat
That's all the truth I know
A coat of gold, a coat of red
A lion still has claws
And mine are long and sharp, my Lord
As long and sharp as yours
And so he spoke, and so he spoke
That Lord of Castamere
And now the rains weep o'er his halls
With no one there to hear
Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls
And not a soul to hear
