Castamere
Castamere
Castamere
Castamere
Castamere
Castamere

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

So he spoke, and so he spoke
That Lord of Castamere
And now the rains weep o'er his hall
And not a soul to hear

And now the rains weep o'er his hall
And not a soul to hear