The old bards are singing their war hero songs
But I can’t believe that the men are all gone
I know that they’re valiant and courageous and brave
But here in the village the silence is grave.
So give me your hand and lets fall to our knees
And pray for our heros that they may believe
Let all of our fighters return to their homes
And safely we’ll dwell in the land we once roamed.
Now let us be vigilant to hear their steps
The day will arrive and we must dress our best
Not all of our brothers and sons will come home
So we must prepare to wail and to moan.
The wood for the pyres is cut and stacked high
The priest is well-tended and waits by and by
Our hearts which have waited are anxious and grim
But we will be steadfast and wait for our kin.
So ready your hearts and steady your hands
Do not begrudge those reunited again
Though weeping and wailing we know we must stay
And love our whole village so every day.
Come home father and come home son
Speak to us brother as you have done
Watch them o Lord we hope and we pray
And give us our legs for our darkest day.