The Sun is also a Warrior, by Leslie Fish

Two men walked on the beach in the sun.
One left footprints, the other left none.
One was a man who no man obeys;
The other a god from the ancient days.

"Look," said the man, "how my kind make war.
I summoned you here to ask what for."
"for wealth or land," the god replies,
"For life, or freedom, or some king's lies."

CHORUS:
The sun is also a warrior.
Knowledge can also destroy.
Nor can the kindest will,
preserve you from the kill.
Not all of wisdom brings joy."

"Four of those five," the first one said,
"Are not enough to appease the dead.
To save my world all this strife must cease,
So now I bid you to conjure peace."

The god said "Yes. Though it grieves me sore.
For I was also a god of war.
And I recall what you forget,
Four of those five you may still regret."

CHORUS

He raised his voice and he raised his hand.
All strife stopped at the god's command.
No voice ventured an angry word,
No hand struck and no weapon stirred.

In time, the man called the old god back.
"Look," he cried, "what my people lack!
One lord rules over all the earth,
And we're all his slaves from the hour of birth."

CHORUS

"Look, he owns all wealth, and he owns all land,
we live and die under his command.
He speaks the truth and he gives us peace,
But all that I hope for is our release."

The old god said, "This is what you willed.
For only thus is your wish fulfilled.
War's five sources I took away,
Yet I will give four of them back today."

CHORUS

He raised his hand and his voice once more,
And all the world overturned in war.
And when the last of those fires let fall,
There was no lord in the world at all.

"Go rebuild now," the old god said,
"Feed the living and bury the dead,
And remember this when you speak of war,
And think upon what is worth fighting for."

CHORUS

The Nightingale and the Rose - Traditional

In the beginning, Allah the Ever Merciful created the Earth. In that creation, he made the plants, the animals that fly, that swim, and those that creep. His one commandment to all these, was one that they faithfully carry out to this day, which is to: "Go forth, be fruitful, and multiply".

Now, the most beautiful of all the plants was the rose. But she was not then as she is now, in the beginning, her slender stem was smooth and unmarred, and her petals were of the purest white.

Most alluring of all, was her fragrance. So sweet and delightful was it, that all of the animals would try to entice her to open her petals, that they could catch even a whiff of it.

Of all the animals, the one that had the greatest success in convincing the rose to open her petals was the nightingale. Often would he fly past her, singing a glorious song of true love, pure and without reservation, and when the rose heard it, her heart swelled and she could not help herself but open her petals to better hear the beautiful music. As the days went by the nightingale would fly closer and closer as he sang his love song for the rose, and the rose would open her petals wider and wider, until one day, they gave in to the love they both felt, and embraced.

Allah, the All-Knowing, was greatly saddened upon seeing this, as their love was not one that fit with his grand design. Seeking to return them to the path of wisdom, Allah went to the lovers and spoke unto them:

"Know my children, that there is no greater gift that two can have for each other than true love and companionship. However, this love of yours cannot be. It is the way of things that each should love best their own kind, else Creation be undone. Therefore, I must forbid this love of yours, and command you never again to attempt to consummate it, lest your suffering be even greater."

The nightingale and the rose were both heartbroken at the Word of Allah, but they could do nothing, the will of Allah is as law for us all. To ease his suffering, the nightingale took to flying at night, he still sang beautifully, but his song now was not of the joy of true love, rather it was a song of love lost, of seperation, and of yearning. The rose kept her petals tightly closed at night, to try to block out the nightingale's song of loss, that echoed so painfully in her own heart.

Days and nights went by, with the nightingale singing his song of lost love, and the rose doing her best to block out the sound of it, by staying tightly closed, until one night, she could bear it no longer, and she opened her petals wide. On smelling her sweet fragrance, the nightingale was overcome with desire and swooped down to her. The moment they embraced, sharp thorns erupted from her vines, piercing the breast of the nightingale, and spilling his heart's blood on the rose's pure white petals, staining them red.

And so it is to this day, that the nightingale flies at night, and sings of lost love; and so it is that the rose's vines are thorned as a reminder of the prohibition of Allah, and her petals are forever stained red with the blood the nightingale, who sacrificed himself for love;

For My Lord, He Calls and I Go - Lyrics and Tune by Brian C. Bertrand

The lands I now hold were my fathers' of old;
Well tended and guarded they are;
Spring planting is finished, the lambs in the fold;
The call comes, a summons to war;
For my lord, he calls and I go;

Chorus
I've left home and family to fight for my lord;
To call for my sword is his right;
I'll follow his banner whatever the toll;
For glory and honor I'll fight;
For my lord, he calls and I go;

We gather full armed, mighty knights some ten score;
We each swear that we go to fight;
To bring sword and bow to the Holy Land far;
To free it from seracens' blight;
For my lord, he calls and I go;

Chorus

For a year we traveled along the hard road;
Through battle and illness and grief;
We stand before Acre, a siege we do hold;
To seize her and take her in fief;
For my lord, he calls and I go;

Chorus

The dead lie scattered, faces ashen and cold;
Fair Acre is now held in thrall;
The fall of Jerusalem thus is foretold;
As life fades, I hear Heaven's call;
For my Lord, he calls and I go;

Final Chorus
I left home and family to fight for my lord;
To call for my sword was his right;
Though I fell in battle, fear not for my soul;
I stand now before Heaven's light;
For my Lord, he calls and I go;

For my Lord, he calls and I go;

A Servant When He Reigneth - Words by Rudyard Kipling, Arrangement by Leslie Fish

Three things make the earth unquiet, four she cannot brook
The godly augur counted them and put them in a book
Those four tremendous curses with which mankind is cursed
But a servant when he reigneth, old augur entered first

A handmaid that is mistress we need not call upon
A fool when he is full of meat will fall asleep anon
An odious woman married may bear a babe and mend
But a servant when he reigneth is confusion to the end

His feet are swift to tumult, his hands are slow to toil
His ears are deaf to reason, his lips are loud and roiled
He knows no use for power except to show his might
He gives no heed to judgment, unless it prove him right

Because he served a master before his kingship came
He hid in all disaster behind his master’s name
So when his folly opens the unnecessary hells
A servant when he reigneth, throws the blame on someone else

His vows are lightly spoken, his faith is hard to bind
His trust is easy broken, he fears his fellow kind
The nearest mob will move him to break the pledge he gave
Oh a servant when he reigneth is more than ever a slave
Aye a servant when he reigneth is more than ever a slave

Crusader's Prayer - Words and Arrangement by Master Niall Townly

Chorus
Bless me my God as I go to war,
for Thee and my King are what I’m fighting for
I’ll be showered with glory or be seen no more
and die on the Holy Land’s shore

Richard our King has called for our swords
To fight in Outremer to tame the pagan horde
In serving my King I too serve the Lord
In Heaven shall be my reward

Chorus

Our horses and men in such fine array
For Christ and God’s Kingdom we soon sail away
The cross on my shoulder won’t lead me astray
As I take my vows on this day

Chorus

Crusader's Song - Words and Arrangement by Sir Conn MacNeill

Chorus
I'm for the Holy Land sailing
To win back Jerusalem's walls
I'm for the Holy Land sailing
And i'll win a fortune or a martyr I'll fall

As my ship sails out I watch the far coastline
For leaving of kinsmen my heart is full pained
And I've traded all for a cross on my shoulder
No land for a third son, so I'm away

Chorus

As I look around me at the men on the benches
Their eyes are like mine so I know their heart's pain
I sing them a song of bravery and battle
And now their eyes shine liek their keen polished blades

Chorus

I followed King Richard to Sicily Island
For Johanna's dowry 'gainst Tancred prevailed
Now a fortune in silver and a new wife have Richard
And I've a swift horse and a new coat of mail

Chorus

At landfall in Cyprus they refused Barengaria
And Richard in anger has answered in steel
Now the crown of Cyprus he's added to England
And I've added knighthood's gold spurs to my heels

Chorus

I followed the Banner to battle at Acre
And held it aloft when its bearer was slain
Now we've given Richard a tower of the city
He's given me rank and a full captain's pay

Chorus

At Arsouf on the coastline we met with the Paymin
We won the battle though many were slain
And one was a Baron with lands that need tending
Now they are mine and I'll tend them well

Chorus

Now I sit in court over Christian and Muslim
And I've a strong keep and soldiers ten-score
King Richard's army has sailed back to England
And I've said farewell for I'll see them no more

For I'm in the Holy Land staying
To guard my own castle walls
I'm in the Holy Land staying
For I've won my fortune so farewell to all

The Water is Wide - Traditional

The water is wide, I cannot cross o'er;
Neither have I the wings to fly;
Give me a boat that can carry two;
And we both shall row, my love and I;

There is a ship that sails the sea;
She's loaded deep, as deep can be;
But not so deep as the love I'm in;
I know not if I sink or swim;

The water is wide, I cannot cross o'er;
Neither have I the wings to fly;
Give me a boat that can carry two;
And both shall row, my love and I;

I leaned my back against an oar;
Thinking it was a mighty tree;
But first it bent, and then it broke;
And such did my first love treat me;

The water is wide, I cannot cross o'er;
Neither have I the wings to fly;
Give me a boat that can carry two;
And both shall row, my love and I;

Stierbach Runesong - Words by Bertran de St Jean

Matchless stands Atlantia’s glory,
her might and beauty without peer;
Stretching west to Midrealm-mountains,
reaching east where sea-sward nears;
Her bounty feeds and clothes many,
gentle Eden of latter-days;
Mark not largess for infirmness,
for strong arms keep the thief at bay;

Atlantian grain-lands be guarded,
a bull stained crimson stands in might;
All foes fear his anger deadly,
winging cowardly from his sight;
Stierbach stands athwart two rivers,
the lifeblood of a kingdom’s trade;
At each ready stands a door-ward,
‘gainst outland foe or bandit raid;

Dark Potomac, strongly running
from Aethelmarc unto the sea;
Watchful eye to western gate-land,
Abhainn Iarthair sword-arm doughty;
Rappahannock swiftly racing,
with slavering jaws of jagged stone;
Ready guard to southern gate-land,
with bow drawn taught stands Sudentorre;

With war-bow, axe, and broad-sword bright,
Atlantia’s heart we do defend;
Hearth-guards’ and door-wards’ ready might,
to slay the foe, protect the friend;
Raider, reaver, foe-man bitter,
whate’er your fortunes ‘neath the sun;
Come not here with hope of plunder,
for this land is where red bulls run!

Once Upon A Time - Words and Music by Joe Bethancourt

Raised on song and story, heroes could be found;

In the joyous tales of glory, chivalry's renown;

The revel halls and list fields, The minstrels haunting rhyme;

And I was loved by someone, once upon a time;

Ring a ring a rosy,as the light declines;

I still remember someone, once upon a time;

Once upon a time there was, a kingdom far away;

That sang a song of chivalry, in a happy yesterday;

Miles of rolling country, from the mountains to the sea;

A kingdom carved from nothing; a dream that came to be;

Our children play together, beneath the skies of blue;

And we loved and fought each other; like families often do;

With honor as our watchword, to find the Holy Grail;

Caught up into a different time, in a living fairy tale;

Ring a ring a rosy,as the light declines;

I still remember someone, once upon a time;

Oh the years have made me bitter, though time has dimmed the pain;

And everything keeps changing, nothing stays the same;

I watch my children live the dream, from seeds that we have sown;

And my old friends have all gone away, and I sit all alone;

The Outlands and Meridies, Ansteorra's windy plains;

The East and Middle, Atenveldt, the misty Western reign;

My minds still full of memories, I turn to hear their chime;

I still remember someone, once upon a time;

Ring a ring a rosy, as the light declines;

These are the days of glory, these are the good old times;

Our Fathers of Old - Words by Rudyard Kipling, arrangement by Leslie Fish

Excellent herbs had our fathers of old,
Excellent herbs for easing their pain,
Alexanders and Marigolds,
Eyebright and Orris and Elecampagne,
Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue,
Almost singing themselves they run,
Vervain, Dittany, and Call-me-to-you,
Cowslip and Melilot, Rose-of-the Sun,
Anything green that grew out of the mould,
Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.

Excellent books had our fathers of old,
Excellent books of the herbs and the stars,
The Sun was lord of the Marigold,
Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars,
Pat as a sum in division it goes,
Every Herb had a Planet bespoke,
Who but Venus could govern the Rose?
Who but Jupiter own the Oak?
Simply and plainly the facts are retold,
In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.

Wonderful little, when all is said,
Wonderfull little our forefathers knew,
Half their remedies cured you quite dead,
Most of their teaching was simply untrue,
'Look to the stars when a patient is ill,
Dirt has nothing to do with disease,
Bleed and blister as much as you will,
Blister and purge him as oft as you please.'
Wherefore enormous and most manifold,
Errors were made by our fathers of old.

Yet when the plague was sore in the land,
And neither Plant nor Planet assuaged,
They took their lives in their lanced hands,
And oh what a wonderful war they waged,
Aye when the crosses were chalked on the door,
Aye when the terrible dead-carts rolled,
Excellent courage our forefathers bore,
Excellent heart had our fathers of old.

If it be certain, as Galen says,
And sage Hippocrates holds as much,
That those afflicted by doubt and dismay,
Are mightily helped by a dead-man's touch,
Then be good to us Stars above,
Then be good to us Herbs below,
We are afflicted by what we can prove,
We are distracted by all that we know,
So down from Heaven or up from your mould,
Send us the hearts of our fathers of old.

Norman and Saxon - Words by Rudyard Kipling, Arrangement by Brian Bertrand

"My son," said the Norman Baron,
"I am dying and you will be heir,
To all the broad acres in England,
That William gave me for share,
When he conquered the Saxon at Hastings,
And a nice little handful it is,
But before you go over to rule it,
I want you to understand this.

The Saxon is not like us Normans,
His manners are not so polite,
But he never means anything serious,
'Til he talks about justice and rights,
When he stands like an ox in the furrow,
With his sullen-set eyes on your own,
And he grumbles 'This isn't fair-dealing.',
My son leave the Saxon alone.

You can horsewhip your Gascony archers,
Or torture your Picardy spears,
But don't try that game on the Saxon,
You'll have the whole brood 'round your ears,
From the richest old Thane in the country,
To the poorest chained serf in the field,
They'll be at you and on you like hornets,
And if you are wise you will yield.

But first you must master their language,
Their dialect, proverbs, and songs,
Don't trust any clerk to interpret,
When they come with the tale of their wrongs,
Let them know you know what they're saying,
Let them feel you know what to say,
Yes even when you want to go hunting,
Hear em out if it takes you all day.

They'll drink every hour of daylight,
And poach every hour of dark,
Its the sport, not the rabbits that they're after,
We've plenty of game in the park,
Don't hang them or cut of their fingers,
That's wasteful as well as unkind,
For a hard-bitten South-country poacher,
Makes the best man-at-arms you can find.

Appear with your wife and the children,
At their weddings, funerals, and feasts,
Be polite but not friendly with Bishops,
Be good to all poor parish priests,
Say 'we' 'us' and 'ours' when you're talking,
Instead of 'you fellows' and 'I',
Don't ride over seeds, keep your temper,
And never you tell 'em a lie!"

The Centurion's Song - Words by Rudyard Kipling, arrangement by Leslie Fish

Legate, I had the news last night,
my cohort ordered home,
By ships to Portus Itius,
and thence by road to Rome,
I've marched the companies aboard,
the arms are stowed below,
Now let another take my sword,
Command me not to go!

I've served in Britain forty years, 3
from Vectis to the Wall,
I have no other home than this,
nor any life at all,
Last night I did not understand,
but now the hour draws near,
That calls me to my native land,
I feel that land is here.

Here where men say my name was made,
here where my work was done,
Here where my dearest dead are laid,
my wife and only son,
Here where time, custom, grief, and toil,
age, memory, service, love,
Have rooted me in British soil,
how can I remove?

For me this land, that sea, these airs,
those folk and fields suffice,
What purple southern pomp can match
our changeful northern skies,
Black with December's snows unshed
or pearled with August haze,
The clanging arch of steel-grey March,
or June's long-lighted days.

You'll take the old Aurelian road
through shore-decending pines,
Where blue as any peacock's neck,
the Tyrrhene Ocean shines,
You go where laurel crowns are won but,
will you e'er forget,
The scent of hawthorne in the sun,
or bracken in the wet.

Let me work here for Britain's sake,
at any task you will,
A marsh to drain, a road to make,
or native troops to drill,
Some western camp, I know the Pict,
or granite border keep,
Mid seas of heather derelict,
where our old messmates sleep.

Legate I come to you in tears,
my cohort ordered home,
I've served in Britain forty years, .
what should I do in Rome,
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind,
the only life I know,
I cannot leave it all behind,
command me not to go!

Worms of the Earth - by Clam Chowder

My father worked on the land, as did his father before him,
Plowing and sowing by hand, and harvesting what the land bore him,
He was killed by the robbers before I was ten,
One stroke of the sword and then they were gone,
While our lord strutted bravely on top his tall walls,
And did nothing to hinder the slaughter.

For we are the worms of the earth,
Against the lions of might,
All of our days we are tied to the land,
While they hunt and they feast and they fight,
We give our crops, our homes, and our lives,
And the clerics tell us this is right,
And they've beat us before and they'll beat us again,
But we'll drink from their helmets tonight!

Our lord rode away to the wars,
Mounted on top a tall stallion,
To fight for some noble cause,
With his knights there and henchmen to guard him,
Then we heard that they captured both he and his men,
And for that they raised our taxes again,
For to pay the great ransom in gold and in gems,
To get our lord back to rule us.

For we are the worms of the earth,
Against the lions of might,
All of our days we are tied to the land,
While they hunt and they feast and they fight,
We give our crops, our homes, and our lives,
And the clerics tell us this is right,
And they've beat us before and they'll beat us again,
But we'll drink from their helmets tonight!

This year there was a great drought,
Our crops were burnt in the ground,
Not that our lord did without,
For his men took all that they found,
Then our lord came among us with some of his men,
To announce that the taxes were raised yet again,
So a few of us acted on our desperate plan,
Now his body is meat for the crows.

Into the fire we stare,
Behind our poor barricade,
To tired to feel the despair,
Knowing no one will come to our aid,
For when that sun rises the knights all around,
They will gather in force and hunt us all down,
They'll mount our heads proudly on pikes in the town,
And our final tax will be paid.

For we are the worms of the earth,
Against the lions of might,
All of our days we are tied to the land,
While they hunt and they feast and they fight,
We give our crops, our homes, and our lives,
And the clerics tell us this is right,
And they've beat us before and they'll kill us tomorrow,
But we'll drink from their helmets tonight!

The Fairies and the Two Hunchbacks - A Tale of Picardy

Once there were three fairies who used to amuse themselves by dancing round and round, and singing, "Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday."

One day a little hunchback surprised them at this sport, and without being afraid, he took them by the hand and began to dance with them, repeating also, "Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday."
He danced so prettily that the fairies were charmed, and to reward him took away his hunch. Perfectly happy, he returned home, constantly singing as he went, "Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday."

On the road he met another little hunchback whom he knew. The latter was greatly astonished to see his friend relieved of his hunch, and said, "How did you manage it? Your hunch is gone."
"It is all very easy," replied the other. "You have only to go to a certain wood, when you will find some fairies. You must dance with them and sing, 'Sunday, Monday; Sunday, Monday,' and they will take away your hunch."

"I will go, I will go at once," cried the little hunchback, and started immediately for the wood to which he had been directed, where, sure enough, he found the three fairies. Without hesitating, he took them by the hand and danced with them, repeating, "Sunday, Monday." But unhappily for him, he added, "Tuesday, Wednesday."

The fairies, indignant, added to his hunch that of the first hunchback, so that he was a fright to behold, so frightful that if you had seen him you would have run away from him.

And then ? -- And then the cock crew, and it was day.

The Woman Who Had No Shadow - A Traditional Scandanavian Tale

Once there was a pastor's wife who was afraid to have children. Other women are concerned when they have no children, but she was constantly afraid that she could have children.
One day she went to a wise woman, a wicked witch, and asked her what to do to avoid having children. The wise woman gave her seven stones and told her if she would throw them into the well she would be spared from having children.

The pastor's wife threw the stones into the well. As each stone splashed below, she thought that she heard the cry of a child, but still she felt a great sense of relief.

Some time later the pastor and his were walking across the churchyard by the light of a full moon, when the pastor suddenly noticed that his wife did not have a shadow. This frightened him, and he asked her for an explanation, stating that she must have committed a dreadful sin, a sin that she would have to confess to him.

He continued to press her for a confession, until finally she admitted what she had done. Upon hearing her story, he angrily proclaimed, "Cursed woman! Flowers will grow from our slate roof before God forgives you of this sinful deed!" With that he sent her away, telling her to never again step across his threshold.

One night, many years later, a wretched and tattered beggar woman approached the parsonage and asked for shelter. The housekeeper gave the poor woman a bit to eat and made a bed for her next to the kitchen stove.

The next morning the pastor found the beggar woman dead on the kitchen floor. In spite of her rags, he recognized her immediately as the woman he had cursed and disowned. As he stood there contemplating her lifeless, but serene face, his housekeeper burst into the room. "Pastor!" she exclaimed. "Come outside! A miracle has happened during the night!" The pastor followed her outside and saw that his slate roof was covered with blossoming flowers.

The Fox and the Horse - A Traditional German Tale

A peasant had a faithful horse which had grown old and could do no more work, so his master no longer wanted to give him anything to eat and said, "I can certainly make no more use of you, but still I mean well by you, and if you prove yourself still strong enough to bring me a lion here, I will maintain you. But for now get out of my stable." And with that he chased him into the open field.

The horse was sad, and went to the forest to seek a little protection there from the weather. There the fox met him and said, "Why do you hang your head so, and go about all alone?"
"Alas," replied the horse, "greed and loyalty do not dwell together in one house. My master has forgotten what services I have performed for him for so many years, and because I can no longer plow well, he will give me no more food, and has driven me out."

"Without giving you a chance?" asked the fox.

"The chance was a bad one. He said, if I were still strong enough to bring him a lion, he would keep me, but he well knows that I cannot do that."

The fox said, "I will help you. Just lie down, stretch out as if you were dead, and do not stir."
The horse did what the fox asked, and then the fox went to the lion, who had his den not far off, and said, "A dead horse is lying out there. Just come with me, and you can have a rich meal."
The lion went with him, and when they were both standing by the horse the fox said, "After all, it is not very comfortable for you here -- I tell you what -- I will fasten it to you by the tail, and then you can drag it into your cave and eat it in peace."

This advice pleased the lion. He positioned himself, and in order that the fox might tie the horse fast to him, he kept completely quiet. But the fox tied the lion's legs together with the horse's tail, and twisted and fastened everything so well and so strongly that no amount of strength could pull it loose. When he had finished his work, he tapped the horse on the shoulder and said, "Pull, white horse, pull!"

Then up sprang the horse at once, and pulled the lion away with him. The lion began to roar so that all the birds in the forest flew up in terror, but the horse let him roar, and drew him and dragged him across the field to his master's door. When the master saw the lion, he was of a better mind, and said to the horse, "You shall stay with me and fare well." And he gave him plenty to eat until he died.

The Burden of the Crown - words and music by Derek Foster

The battlefield is silent, the shadows growing long
Though I may view the sunset, I'll not live to see the dawn
The trees have ceased to rustle, the birds no longer sing
All nature seems to wonder at the passing of a King.

And now you stand before me, your father's flesh and blood
Begotten of my sinews on the woman that I loved
So difficult the birthing, the mother died that day
And now you stand before me to bear my crown away.

The hour is fast approaching when you come into your own
When you take the ring and sceptre, and sit upon the throne
Before that final hour when we each must meet our fate
Pray gaze upon the royal crown and marvel at its weight.

This cap of burnished metal is the symbol of a land
Supporting all we cherish, the dreams for which we stand
The weight, you'll find, is nothing if you hold it in your palm
The burden of the crown begins the day you put it on.

See how the jewels sparkle as you gaze at it again
Each facet is a subject whose rights you must defend
Every point of light a burden you must shoulder with your own
And mighty is the burden of the man upon the throne.

The day is nearly ended, my limbs are growing cold
I can feel the angels waiting to receive my passing soul
Keep well for me my kingdom when my memory is dead
And forgive me for the burden I place upon your head.

The Dream - words by Rudyard Kipling, arrangement by Leslie Fish

Oh late withdrawn from humankind,
And following dreams we never knew,
Old man, what dream has Fate assigned,
To trouble you.

Such virtue as commands the law,
A virtue, to the vulgar hordes,
Suffices not you needs must draw,
A righteous sword.

And flagrant in so doing smite,
The priests of Bacchus at their fane,
Lest any worshiper invite,
The god again.

Thence comes public strife and naked crime,
And deadlier than the cup you shun,
A people schooled to mock in time,
All laws not one.

Cease then to fashion state made sin,
Nor give your children cause to doubt,
That virtue springs from iron within,
Not lead without.

The Innkeeper's Song - by Jim Pipkin

I have been a traveller, I've seen the far country,
Marched across the meadows, sailed upon the seas,
Faced the heedless slaughter in the madness of the line,
Saw the death of innocence, surprised when it was mine,

I have heard the seagulls where the ocean washes sand,
Known the heat of battle, felt the hot blood on my hand,
Heard the cries of wounded men just praying to be dead,
Followed many leaders, and was followed where I led,

When I found a lady love, it was mostly quick and cold,
We bartered for their services with cloth and food and gold,
When the army marched away some few might tag along,
And walk behind the baggage train, singing bawdy songs,

Now I'm old but hale enough, with many tales to tell,
My shares bought me this roadside inn which suits my temper well,
But when the weather's cold my wounds will ache again I fear,
I dull the pain with sleeping herbs, and mugs of barley-beer,

You say you're for the cavalry, the dashing cavaliers,
But horsemen too must fight on foot when fodder comes too dear,
So if by chance you find yourself dismounted in the line,
Stand always between two friends, with one eye out behind,

Take with you my hanger boy, t'was always at my side,
Some say she's a lucky blade, she's often saved my hide,
And if your Ma had lived I'm sure she'd cry to see you go,
As it is Godspeed my son, I've taught you all I know.

Danegeld - Words by Rudyard Kipling, arrangement by Leslie Fish

It is always a temptation to an armed and agile nation,
To come upon their neighbors and to say,
"We invaded you last night,
We are quite prepared to fight,
Unless you pay us cash to go away."

And that is called asking for danegeld,
And the people who ask it explain,
That if you just pay them the danegeld,
Then you'd be rid of the Danes.

It is always a temptation to a rich and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say,
"Though we know we should defeat you,
We have not the time to meet you,
We will therefore pay you cash to go away."

And that is called paying the danegeld,
But we've proved it again and again,
That if you once pay 'em the danegeld,
You'll never be rid of the Danes.

It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
Lest they should succumb and go astray,
So when you are requested,
To pay up or be molested,
You'll find it better policy to say.

"We never pay anyone danegeld,
No matter how trifling the cost,
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
And the people who play it are lost, lost, lost,
The people who play it are lost."