In Calontir We Rust

Words: Mikal Hrafspa (Mikal the Ram)
Music: Gwendalyn Fayrfax
MIDI / NWC / PDF
This little missive was a vain attempt at humor by poking fun at the Calontir army. how was I to know that another bard would put a tune to it and try teaching it to the fighters as a war-song???

Early in the day not far away
I was sleeping in the morning sun
From deep in the camp came a marching tramp
And the rhythm of a drum
Could it be a fire? Could it be foes?
Could it be the fairy imps?
No, says he, ''tis our Chivalry
You can tell by the way they limp!

Here comes the train in rusty chain
Squeaking on their way to war
With rattles in their gear and bruises on their rears
And patches by the score
You can see they fight, they look a fright
With their helms hanging off their ears
But you don't get brass by sitting on your ass
In the Kingdom of Calontir

Along with fame and the knightly chain
Comes responsibility
And several strains and a few odd sprains
And the option of surgery
And when you lose you get a bruise
That's going to keep you up all night
But you hurry on your way the very next day
To the closest kingdom fight

Here comes the train in rusty chain
Squeaking on their way to war
With rattles in their gear and bruises on their rears
And patches by the score
You can see they fight, they look a fright
With their helms hanging off their ears
But you don't get brass by sitting on your ass
In the Kingdom of Calontir

We cheer our side and take great pride
In their creaking, aching joints
With their dents and rents and shields all bent
They're still ahead on points
There's sweat by the ton in their gambesons
That haven't been washed since spring
Their eyes so bright and their knees wrapped tight
You can hear the army sing:

Here comes the train in rusty chain
Squeaking on their way to war
With rattles in their gear and bruises on their rears
And patches by the score
You can see they fight, they look a fright
With their helms hanging off their ears
But you don't get brass by sitting on your ass
In the Kingdom of Calontir

And so we sing, make the rafters ring
In praises by the score
As they win the fight and come home at night
Dirty, bruised and sore
Let's raise a glass to lad and lass
Who take the noble trust
Of the Knight in Shining Armor
And mud and blood and rust

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