Dirge To End All Dirges
There was blood on the saddle
There was blood all around
And a great big puddle of blood on the ground
Twas a sad day at Aldwin's house
His noble horse was dying
His servants, too, lay dead around
His house smoul-dered around him
His bonny wife lay bleeding there
A great wound on her shoulder
His lovely daughters all were taken away
He would not see them ever
His arms and legs were broken too
The world was slowly fading
And as his world faded into black
He heard a chorus singing:
He dies, she dies, everybod-y dies
What good is there in a dirge if someone is left on living
A little further down the coast
A castle had been taken
The nuns and virgins tried to run away
The sheep and cows were eaten
But their assail was worth the row
And not a soul lay living
Then they loudly sang as they rowed away
So proudly their voices ringing:
He dies, she dies, everybod-y dies
What good's there in plundering if someone's left on living
So now for all I will end my song
For perhaps you feel like crying
But for you to hear a happy dirge
There would have to be no dying
For death, despair, and gloom and doom
To dirges are most common
And not a dry eye round the fire I'll see
For the dead have all gone to their resting place and everyone else will
soon be sad because they'll all be dying of the plague or some other such nonsense
He dies, she dies, everybod-y dies
What good is there in a dirge if someone's left on living
He dies, she dies, everybod-y dies
What good is there in a dirge if someone's left on living
And There Was Much Rejoicing (and then they ate the minstrels)