Bless‘d art thou in the field and city,
Needlework cockerels are pretty,
Fair lads sit at peace and leisure
Or else shine leather boots.
Our captain of Redheads worries
She saw fighting men burned and buried,
Eighteen runs in as many winters,
Not a great deal of loot.
She is sore, oh she is sorry,
Mended dresses her only dowry,
Harvest failed, coinage near worthless,
Borders beset by foe.
Her retainers a merry corps,
Twits and stalwart wankistadors -
Quite a sorry excuse for service,
Extra helpings of woe.
Our captain of Readheads sets the ultimatum on fire,
Sends away her companions, a beleaguered council of war.
Calls a flaming red rooster, and she sings and tosses it higher
“Fly to homes of great eagles, they must grace our skies as before.”
Were ever the nights more scary?
Evil clowns hunt the unwary,
Black crusaders giggle and chatter,
Paint their crosses red.
Hongweibing are issuing orders,
Fierce Provosts have crossed the border,
Countryside alive with campfires
By the dry riverbed.
Our captain of Redheads looks at a cat through her glasses,
“Ginger cat, you must hurry”, so she sings at the break of dawn.
“Go to homes of wild panthers, blue-eyed guards of the mountain passes.
Help us now, noble panthers, you must once again return home.”
Every one a fish out of water,
Redheads gather towards the slaughter
Their tents may stay up all night, but
For the wind that may blow.
But our lucky lady is here,
Mighty eagle wings beat the air,
And around the Bare Mountain
Panthers run in the snow.
Our captain of Redheads rides up to speak to her army.
"Moral to the physical", she says, "are as three to one."
We are well-placed and steady, and also it’s almost summer,
The red time of the Rooster, and of course his will shall be done.
Now a victory over winter,
Black crusaders complain and whimper,
Evil clowns are flanked and scattered,
Given three wedgies each.
Hongweibing are in open rout,
Mighty Provosts are taken out,
Outclassed, outgunned and laughed at,
Nursing wounds in a ditch.
By the mistress of joyous science,
Freckled god stood behind his scions
In his grace, and with luck by handful,
We have cheated our doom.
From a giant fir, rooster crows,
Impish girls are laughing below
In the vales under Bare Mountain
Golden ferns are in bloom.
Our captain of Redheads, give up on your grief altogether,
Our cup was too bitter, end of our days at the door.
Sing for us, our summer, our golden dawn, flutter your feathers,
Vert, a cock displayed gules, armed and dangerous, or.