Words: Johann Steinarsson
Music: The Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel
Hello my poor drunken friend,
I've come to wake you up again
Seems you spent all of last night boozing,
And though you would rather remain snoozing,
The voices of our morning calls, are crashing through your brain
So much pain
Within the sounds of heralds
In morning light we stand alone,
We know you wish we'd just go home
But camp announcements must be made today
It's a task that will not go away
And if you don't hear our voices you will miss the morning melee, so
To work we go
Let loose the sounds of heralds
It's eight o'clock and all is well
Though people wish we'd go to hell
Rousing aching bones and throbbing heads,
Waking Huscarls who now wish us dead
As our feet grow sore, from walking all across the site
In pre-dawn light
We bring the sounds of heralds
And now my voice is giving out
With five encampments left to shout
Some do ask me why we toil so,
Shout until our vocal cords are blown
And absorb abuse, from the men-at-arms, Fyrd and knights
All day and night
And pay the price of heralds
To this I say, it is my choice
I serve my Kingdom with my voice
We bring the news that must be heard by all
We soldier on to bring that morning call
And though you hate us now, you will thank us later on
And so at dawn
Again, you hear the sounds... of heralds