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Going to War Sitting in the alcove near the fire a bard fingers his harp. The strings not so long silenced it's harmony ringing in battle hardened ears. A song of bravery and victory, rousing and heartening A tale of the warriors' prowess on the battlefield a tale of the enemies blood being spilt. The warriors in the mead hall call for another the bard dutifully complies His fingers fly over his loved instrument again another tale of victory in war. The drums beat outside in the rain the beacon has been lit War is approaching the warriors ready themselves The women try to keep strong silent tears run down weathered cheeks Goodbye's an almost daily occurance this time may be the final farewell. The bard sits already at the head of the war column history in the making - his harp well oiled His fingers poised he strums a stirring beat. The army mount up behind him broad swords strapped to their backs axes at their waists bow and quivers tied to their saddles. The horses snort steaming breaths into the frigid dawn air quivering muscles and eager warriors bloodlust shining on scarred faces they move out. The bard looks behind him at the warriors ready for battle he sighs in weariness - another battlefield awaits Awash in blood the dying screaming for mercy He is to immortalise his cheiftains warriors Valhalla is waiting to welcome the brave Always to be singing about the viciousness of life Dont think that way! The warriors need him he calms their skittish spirits His fingers run across the strings in a familiar tune he hears the warriors voices rise up to meet his harps notes Victory will be ours!
