Evening Song
When the swords are wrapped away
And the boat rests in the harbour.
At the ending of the day
When each man's packed away his armour.
We'll sing a song of the places we have known,
Of Avalon, of Albion, each one lost and each one home.
And the ones who sing it quietest are the ones who know it best
And raise a glass to Hatfield and the rest.
There's a shield for every sword
And a home for every arrow.
The way of mayhem is so broad,
The path of righteousness so narrow.
So raise that banner high until your dying day,
When the cry goes out for justice, well, once more into the fray.
We'll fight like tigers but when we leave that bloody field
We say a prayer for the wounds time never heals.
All Works are © Original Author
(OC Author - Tim Packer)