West Hill - The Bard

Sunset is coming and all people gathered around the fire
The ale is fresh and everybody is yelling higher
Sun spills fading golden tints upon the leaves
The village lays down between the purple hills

Flames are swaying in the air and sparks swirling around
The children are afraid to invade the creepy dark
Men near the fire keep wise council and talk close
Even in peace this all looks mysterious

Suddenly the wind blows and the air is filled with tension
An aged man walks in from the gloom
Grizzly beard, long white hair and a black cape
He is a bard lean and old but in good shape
While he takes his lute and flute he says

My journey was long and I am looking for a rest
The last Inn was three bottles and half behind
Share your fresh ale and I'll sing you a tale

It’s the poet who plays the lute
Girls join in and dance with the dude
As they were caught in his spell
The blond beauties float around the well

Wide hips swinging round and round
It's all due to the magic of that sound
For the bard even being old
The ladies are worth their weight in gold

It’s the poet who plays the lute
Girls join in and dance with the dude
His old voice is still strong and loud
He sings of Lugh and mighty deeds
Then his fingers slowered
The song is out