The Rains of Castamere
One night I hold on
You, you
Castamere . . . Castamere . . . Castamere . . . Castamere
In coat of gold or 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 he spoke
That lord of Castamere
And now the rains weep over his hall
With no one there to hear
Yes, now the rains weep over his hall
And not a soul to hear