O’er the land draws the curtain of night,
The velvet, choking shroud
And all the star, they hold no new light
And the moon does not stand tall and proud.
Oft in the day the sun dawns too soon
Basking in the ‘richness’ of life
And all the men are preparing for war
And the womenfolk toil in thier dialy strife.
Ere battle begins the sword, they do clang
As the foe of the horsemen falls down,
And back in the halls the bard, he has sang
Many a song for the brave.
Yet who bears the most, the daughter, the wife,
Or the husband and son on their horse?
For even in peace, is ended a life
For all can perish by the sword.
So here I stand, alone at night,
Fearing the bars of my cage
And so do I stand, as die does the light
And boil doe my hate of my rage.