Original Submissions by Bhuff of type 'Songs'
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When I Was Young
Added on May 2, 2005Written by the bard Kelinna Hessa.
Written by the bard Kelinna Hessa
The air were so much hotter then
. . . My mother was a bard then
And times were very hard
. . . When I was young
. . . When I was young
I puffed my first spice at ten
. . . And for boys I had that yen
And I had quite a ball
. . . When I was young
When I was young it was more important
. . . Pain more painful and laughter much louder, yeah
When I was young
. . . When I was young
I met my first love at thirteen
. . . I had brown eyes, and his were green.
And I learned quite a lot
. . . When I was young
. . . When I was young
When I was young it was more important
. . . Pain more painful and laughter
When I was young
. . . When I was young
My heart was so much stronger then
. . . I believed in the love of men
And I was so much older then
When I was young
. . . Oh, When I was young
When I was young
. . . Oh, When I was young
When I was young
. . . When I was young
When I was youngWritten by the bard Kelinna HessaThe air were so much hotter then
. . . My mother was a bard then
And times were very hard
. . . When I was young
. . . When I was young
I puffed my first spice at ten
. . . And for boys I had that yen
And I had quite a ball
. . . When I was young
When I...
Continue Reading...Tribute to a Fallen Soldier
Added on May 2, 2005Originally written for Sergeant Timmic of the Kurac militia by the bard Kelinna Hessa.
Originally written for Sergeant Timmic of the Kurac militia by the bard Kelinna Hessa
Spears, . . . Short, obsidian-tipped spears,
Pointed around him . . . In a call to battle.
Straight, shining, polished spears, . . . Pierced the soul in the dun cloak,
The glory of his bandy legs, top-knotted hair, and darkened skin,
Laughing was lithe soul in the dun cloak.
We now watch the walls singing songs of tribute, war chanties.
Shovels, . . . Flat, bone shovels,
Scooping out his oblong vault, . . . Loosening sandstone and leveling dirt.
I ask you . . . To witness in his triumph . . . The shovel is brother to the spear.Originally written for Sergeant Timmic of the Kurac militia by the bard Kelinna HessaSpears, . . . Short, obsidian-tipped spears,
Pointed around him . . . In a call to battle.
Straight, shining, polished spears, . . . Pierced the soul in the dun cloak,
The glory of his bandy legs, top-knotted...
Continue Reading...Three Drunk Half-Giants
Added on May 2, 2005Story of three drunk half giants, writted by the bard Kelinna Hessa.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
Some friends and I in a common room
. . . Was playing Spice Run one night
When into the bar a commoner ran
. . . His face all a chalky white.
"What's up", says Mruk, "Have you got me Egg?
. . . Or have you seen your Aunt Mariah?"
Me Aunt Mariah be Krath'd!", says he,
. . . "The fekkin' bar's on fire!"
And there was Mruk upside down
. . . Lappin' up the whiskey on the floor.
"Booze, booze!" The commoner cried
. . . As they came knockin' on the door
(claps twice loudly)
Oh don't let 'em in till it's all drunk up
. . . And somebody shouted Dwire! DWIRE!
And we all got blue-blind paralytic drunk
. . . When the Old Grey Kank caught fire.
"Oh well," says Mruk, "What a bit of luck
. . . . Everybody follow me.
And it's down to the cellar
. . . If the fire's not there
. . . Then we'll have a grand old spree."
So we went on down after good old Mruk
. . . The booze we could not miss
And we hadn't been there any bit of time
. . . Till we were quite pissed.
Then, Ogan walked over to a wine barrel
. . . And gave it just a few hard knocks
(claps twice loudly)
Started takin' off his old brown pants
. . . Likewise his shoes and socks.
"Hold on, " says Mruk, "that ain't allowed
. . . Ya cannot do that thing here.
Don't go washin' clothes in the wine barrel
. . . When we got naki beer."
Then there came from the old back door
. . . A local Serjeant of the land
And when he saw our drunken ways,
. . . He began to scream and curse.
"Ah, you drunken sods! You Krath'n clods!
. . . You've taken to a drunken spree!
You drank up all the fine wine
. . . And you didn't save a drop for me!"
And then there came a mighty crash
. . . Half the tavern roof caved in.
We were almost covered by all the sand
. . . But still we were gonna stay.
So we got some tacks and some old sand sacks
. . . And we nailed ourselves inside
nd we sat drinking the finest mead
. . . Till we were bleary-eyed.
Later that night, when the fire was out
. . . We came up from the cellar below.
Our bar was burned. Our booze was drunk
. . . . Our heads was hanging low.
"Oh look", says Mruk with a look quite queer
. . . . Seems something raised his ire.
"Now we gotta get down to Kurac Bar,
. . . I need some Spice to get higher!"Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaSome friends and I in a common room
. . . Was playing Spice Run one night
When into the bar a commoner ran
. . . His face all a chalky white.
"What's up", says Mruk, "Have you got me Egg?
. . . Or have you seen your Aunt Mariah?"
Me Aunt Mariah be Krath'd!",...
Continue Reading...Pair of Brown Eyes, A
Added on May 2, 2005Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
One summer evening drunk for a spell
. . . I sat there nearly lifeless.
And old man in the corner sang
. . . about where the wood reeds grow.
And on strummer a fella sang
. . . about a thing called love.
And it's how you are kid
. . . and what's your name
. . . . And how would you bloody know.
In blood and death 'neath
. . . a screaming sky
. . . I lay down on the ground.
And the arms and legs of other men
. . . were scattered all around.
Some cursed some way'd,
. . . some way'd then cursed.
Then way'd then bled some more.
And the only thing that I could see
. . . was a pair of brown eyes
. . . that was looking at me.
But when we got back
. . . onna parts one to three
. . . there was no pair of brown eyes
. . . waiting for me.
And a rovin' a rovin' a rovin' I'll go
. . . for a pair of brown eyes.
I looked at him he looked at me
. . . all I could do was hate him.
While May and Philomena sang
. . . of my elusive dreams.
I saw the desert, the rolling dune where
. . . his brown eyes were waiting.
And I thought about
. . . a pair of brown eyes
. . . that waited once for me.
So drunk for a spell I left the place
. . . sometimes crawling, sometimes walking.
A hungry sound came across the breeze
. . . so I gave the walls a talking.
And I heard the sounds of long ago
. . . from the old well.
And the birds were whistling
. . . in the trees
. . . Where Whira was gently laughing.Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaOne summer evening drunk for a spell
. . . I sat there nearly lifeless.
And old man in the corner sang
. . . about where the wood reeds grow.
And on strummer a fella sang
. . . about a thing called love.
And it's how you are kid
. . . and what's your name
....
Continue Reading...Ol' Callis
Added on May 2, 2005Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa, based on a dwarven tale as first told by Kragendar Stonebelly.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa, based on a dwarven tale as first told by Kragendar Stonebelly.
Ol' Callis was a pikeman, pikeman, pikeman
. . . Work'd Stormways many years ago
At Upwards Gate or so it's said
. . . Watching strange folks walk to and fro
Ol' Callis was a guardin', guardin', guardin'
. . . On Drov's watch, a dead-late shift
A banging on the gate he hears
. . . By a figure not moving too swift
Ol' Callis did some thinkin', thinkin', thinkin'
. . . That night he'd do a good deed.
Opens the side-door for an ol' hag
. . . His orders he did not heed.
Ol' Callis was a watchin', watchin', watchin'
. . . The ol' crone tore end to end
A silt-flyer had attacked her
. . . For his aid he'd made a friend
Ol' Callis was a listenin', listenin', listenin'
. . . As the woman did impart
Ask him to find her sister
. . . With a gift box he did depart
Ol' Callis went a deliverin', deliverin', deliverin'
. . . With five hundred coins in his hand
He oath'd to keep the box shut
. . . It was the crone's only demand
Ol' Callis wandered homeways, homeways, homeways
. . . Fell asleep without his wife
She opened the gift box to find
. . . Men's parts severed by a knife.
Ol' Callis was a frettin', frettin', frettin'
. . . Skipped work that afternoon
Went to the Tavern of The Eye
. . . His task he'd finish soon.
Ol' Callis went a wanderin', wanderin', wanderin'
. . . The crone's sister he did find
She saw the box's seal broke
. . . Though old she was not blind
Ol' Callis left a runnin', runnin', runnin'
. . . He knew'd he had been bad
She scream'd and hollor'd curses
. . . The sister she was quite mad
Ol' Callis was a itchin', itchin', itchin'
. . . His manly parts he could not feel
It turn'd all black and fell off
. . . Now Ol' Callis speaks with a squealWritten by the Bard Kelinna Hessa, based on a dwarven tale as first told by Kragendar Stonebelly.Ol' Callis was a pikeman, pikeman, pikeman
. . . Work'd Stormways many years ago
At Upwards Gate or so it's said
. . . Watching strange folks walk to and fro
Ol' Callis was a guardin', guardin',...
Continue Reading...Message from the Old North Road, A
Added on May 2, 2005Slightly modified version of the song by the bard Kelinna Hessa.
Written by the bard Kelinna Hessa
Was there ever a message sweeter . . . Than that one from the Old North Road,
>From a grim old fellow, you remember? . . . Dying in the dark on the Old North Road.
With his rough face turned a little, . . . On, a heap of scarlet sand,
They found him, just within the scrub, . . . With a drawing in his hand,
With a stained and crumpled drawing . . . Of a woman's aged face;
Yet there seemed to leap a wild entreaty, . . . Young and living-tender-from the face
When they flashed the lantern on it, . . . Gilding all the purple shade,
And stooped to raise him softly, . . . That's my mother, sir," he said.
"Tell her"-but he wandered, slipping . . . Into tangled words and cries,
Something about Kalb and Kockre, . . . Something dropping through the cries
About the songbird by the fire, . . . And mother's ginka-pies; and there
The words fell, and an utter . . . Silence brooded in the air.
Just as he was drifting from them, . . . Out into the dark, alone
Poor old mother, waiting for your message, . . . Waiting with the songbird, all alone.
Through the hush his voice broke, "Tell her . . . Thank you, Physician - when you can,
Tell her that I kissed her drawing, . . . And wished I'd been a better man."
Ah, I wonder if the red feet . . . Of departed battle-hours
May not leave for us their searching . . . Message from those distant hours.
Sisters, daughters, mothers, think you, . . . Would your heroes now or then,
Dying, kiss your hand-drawn faces, . . . Wishing they'd been better men?
Written by the bard Kelinna HessaWas there ever a message sweeter . . . Than that one from the Old North Road,
From a grim old fellow, you remember? . . . Dying in the dark on the Old
North Road.
With his rough face turned a little, . . . On, a heap of scarlet sand,
They found him, just...
Continue Reading...Longshanks Windspear
Added on May 2, 2005Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa, based on a story first told by Kragendar Stonebelly
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa, based on a story first told byKragendar Stonebelly
They call him K'lek N'gar, Longshanks Windspear,
No one known here, has caused so much fear,
And we know K'lek N'gar, lives in a land full of anger,
Running all around, the dry desert there!
Everyone detests, that leader of the gith,
Ever so hateful, he struck Krag forthwith,
Stabbed him right here, with a jagged spear,
And pulling clear, Krag's flesh did adhere!
They call him K'lek N'gar, Longshanks Windspear,
No one known here, has caused so much fear,
And we know K'lek N'gar, lives in a land full of anger,
Running all around, the dry desert there!Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa, based on a story first told byKragendar StonebellyThey call him K'lek N'gar, Longshanks Windspear,
No one known here, has caused so much fear,
And we know K'lek N'gar, lives in a land full of anger,
Running all around, the dry desert there!
Everyone detests,...
Continue Reading...Little Party, A
Added on May 2, 2005Kuraci drinking song.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
Oh, we had a little party down in Red Storm,
. . . There was Mosert, there was me, and the other fellar made three.
Oh, we had a little party down in Red Storm,
. . . And we had to carry Mosert before he was dessert.
Oh, we had to carry Mosert through the desert,
. . . And we had to carry him to the Outpost.
And the reason that we had to carry Mosert through the desert,
. . . Was that Mosert couldn't carry anymore.
For Kurac, for Kurac,
. . .The Post resounds the cry, we're out to do or die.
For Kurac, for Kurac,
. . . We'll win the fight or know the reason why.
And when the fight is over we will buy a bunch of booze,
. . . And we'll drink to Kurac 'til we wallow in our shoes.
So drink, tra-la-la
. . . Drink, drank, drunk last night
Drunk the night before
. . . Gonna get drunk tonight like we've never been drunk before
'Cause when I'm drunk I'm as happy as can be
. . . For I'm happy I'm a working for the Kurac family
Oh, the Kurac family is the best family
. . . That ever that even did see the Silt Sea.
There's the Salarr and Kadian,
. . . And just forget the fucken Byn.
Sing Glorious! Victorious!
. . . One barrel of beer for the four of us.
Sing Glory be to Kurac that there ain't no more of us,
. . . For one of us could drink it all alone,
Here's to the Kurac. Dead drunk!
. . . What lucky we to be
. . . With the Kurac family,
And a six bottles of booze
. . . . That we can't refuse!
Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaOh, we had a little party down in Red Storm,
. . . There was Mosert, there
was me, and the other fellar made three.
Oh, we had a little party down in Red Storm,
. . . And we had to carry Mosert before he was dessert.
Oh, we had to carry Mosert through the...
Continue Reading...Jug of Mead, A
Added on May 2, 2005Traditonal folksong.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
One evening on the day of Nekrete . . . As I was sitting resting my feet
A small bird was restin' on a loreshi reed. . . And the song he sang . . . was "The Jug Of Mead."
(whistles along with the melody for two bars)
What more diversion can a lass desire? . . . Than to sit herself down by an alehouse fire
Upon his knee a man she can need . . . And upon the table a jug of mead.
(whistles along with the melody for two bars)
Let the physicians come with all their art . . . They'll make no impression upon my heart
Even a cripple forgets his plead . . . When he's snug outside of a jug of mead.
(whistles along with the melody for two bars)
And if I get drunk, well, me money's me own . . . And them don't like me they can leave me alone
I'll chune me strummer and I'll rosin me bow . . . And I'll be welcome . . . wherever I go.
(whistles along with the melody for two bars)
And when I'm dead and in my grave . . . No costly stones will I crave
Just lay me down near my sweet . . . With a jug of mead at my head and feet.Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaOne evening on the day of Nekrete . . . As I was sitting resting my feet
A small bird was restin' on a loreshi reed. . . And the song he sang . . .
was "The Jug Of Mead."
(whistles along with the melody for two bars)
What more diversion can a lass desire? . ....
Continue Reading...If You Want Me
Added on May 2, 2005Two strangers meet and go home together.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
He sits alone waitin' for suggestions . . . She's so anxious avoidin' all the questions.
Her lips are dry his heart is racin' . . . Don't you just know 'xactly what they're thinkin'.
If you want me and you think you're ready . . . come on darlin' let me know.
If you really need me just reach out and touch me . . . come on darlin' tell me so.
She's acting shy looking for an answer, . . . Come on darlin', let's spend the night together,
Now hold on a while, before we go much further, . . . Give me time so I can tell my mother,
They walk slow to her new apartment, . . . At last she can tell him exactly what her heart meant.
If you want me and you think you're ready . . . come on darlin' let me know.
If you really need me just reach out and touch me . . . come on darlin' tell me so.
Her heart's beating like a drum . . . 'cause at last she's got her lad home Relax darlin' now we are alone . . . Oh.
They wake at dawn 'cause all the birds are singing, . . . Two total strangers but that ain't what they're thinking.
Outside it's hot and windy, the sands a storming, . . . They got each other and no one's complaining,
He says I'm sorry but I'm out of wine and fancy, . . . Never mind darlin' I don't think your chancy.
If you want me and you think you're ready . . . come on darlin' let me know.
If you really need me just reach out and touch me . . . come on darlin' tell me so.
If you really, really, really, really need me . . . just let me know
If you want me and you think you're ready . . . come on darlin' let me know.
If you really need me just reach out and touch me . . . come on darlin' tell me so.Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaHe sits alone waitin' for suggestions . . . She's so anxious avoidin' all the
questions.
Her lips are dry his heart is racin' . . . Don't you just know 'xactly what
they're thinkin'.
If you want me and you think you're ready . . . come on darlin' let me know.
Continue Reading... Gal Ya Don't Meet every Day, A
Added on May 2, 2005A female bard asks bystanders to buy her a drink.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
Oh, my name is Kel Hessa, . . . I'm a canny gal, . . . and roving young lass I've been.
So be easy and free, when you're drinking with me, . . . I'm a gal you don't meet every day.
I have no land, I have no men of command, . . . I have never have any coins to spare.
So be easy and free, when you're drinking with me, . . . I'm a gal you don't meet every day.
So come fill up my glass with whisky and wine. . . . What ever it costs, You can pay.
So be easy and free, when you're drinking with me, . . . I'm a gal you don't meet every day.
Oh, I took up my kank, and him I did lose, . . . all down in the Grey Forest.
So be easy and free, when you're drinking with me, . . . I'm a gal you don't meet every day.
So come fill up my glass with whisky and wine. . . . What ever it costs You can pay.
So be easy and free, when you're drinking with me, . . . I'm a gal you don't meet every day.
So be easy and free, when you're drinking with me, . . . I'm a gal you don't meet every day.
Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaOh, my name is Kel Hessa, . . . I'm a canny gal, . . . and roving young lass
I've been.
So be easy and free, when you're drinking with me, . . . I'm a gal you don't
meet every day.
I have no land, I have no men of command, . . . I have never have any coins
to...
Continue Reading...Finding a Man
Added on May 2, 2005A woman recalls her finding a man.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
Through a market, I wandered and strayed
That I'd find me a man I might have some day.
Well, I never dreamed when I strayed that way
That the man I longed for was standing there.
When he held me in his arms that night,
I held him close, and I held him tight.
And I swore that day forth, I'd love him all of me life.
When he held me in his arms that night.
He smelled of the sweetest perfumed skin.
And I admit it now it drew me in
Oh, his voice charmed me so I could not disobey.
Every word was a dream that swept me away.
Oh, the market became a more beautiful place
The flowers more fragrant, and the clothing all lace.
And his eyes, oh, his eyes! They begged me to stay
But alas, after twenty something years later, I don't regret that day.
Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaThrough a market, I wandered and strayed
That I'd find me a man I might have some day.
Well, I never dreamed when I strayed that way
That the man I longed for was standing there.
When he held me in his arms that night,
I held him close, and I held him tight.
Continue Reading... Carry On
Added on May 2, 2005Song celebrating life as a T'zai Byn Mercenary.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
When there ain't no gal to kiss you,
And the courier seems to miss you,
And you've lost your uniform issue . . . Carry on.
When ye've got an empty belly,
And the 'trines are rotten smelly,
And you're shivering with your felly . . . Carry on.
When the gith has done your chum in,
And your sergeant's sittin' hummin',
And there ain't no rations comin' . . . Carry on.
When the world is red and reeking,
And the gith are loudly shrieking,
And your blood is slowly leaking . . . Carry on.
When yer lips lacks all quenches,
And ya look like the bloody butchers' benches,
And the air is thick with stenches . . . Carry on.
Carry on, . . . Though your pals are pale and wan,
nd the hope of life is gone, . . . Carry on.
For to do more than you can, . . . Is to be a real man,
Not a rotten also-ran . . . Carry on.Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaWhen there ain't no gal to kiss you,
And the courier seems to miss you,
And you've lost your uniform issue . . . Carry on.
When ye've got an empty belly,
And the 'trines are rotten smelly,
And you're shivering with your felly . . . Carry on.
When the gith has...
Continue Reading...
