by Daniel Kelly – 2017

Am                       G
The duke died first and then his prince,
D                Am
The field commander to,
Am               G
Without the fire of their light,
D           Am
Whatever will we do
C             Am
We are fewer every day,
G
Those who seek a better way,
Am             G
Hanging on to the dying flame,
D
No matter what you say

Am                  C
The wolf is at the door my love
G
The wolf is at the door
Am                  C
Go fetch for me my sword and shield
Am          G       Am
The wolf is at the door

The sky is red, with murky clouds,
Reflecting blood below,
Those who run are caged and starved,
Those who stay are bombed to hell,
And every privileged ruler,
In the comfort of their home,
Ignores the plight of the dispossessed,
they are hated and alone.

..go saddle me the black horse..

We watch the rise of angry greed,
Anointing a new king.
He stands for mindless power,
Drunk on his own fame,
Craves adulation of the mass
Violence and hatred are his tools,
When he isn’t grabbing ass,
He’s entertaining fools

..bring me my lance so true..

Amongst a world divided,
How can we hope to thrive,
The seeds of hatred sown,
Can hope and peace survive,
The wicked wind is blowing now,
Its time to bar the door,
Set your stores and guard your well,
Against the coming war.

..bring to my the antlered helm..

by Daniel Kelly - 2017

G               C     D
With hope and summer over,
     C       G    
We harvest bitter fruit
     C                  Em
The songbirds now are leaving,
     Am               D
The colours pale and mute.

      G
The Autumn Muse she blows,
            Em                   D
Through the hearts of young and old,
          C              G
With her worn and icy fingers,
      Am                  D
She tears with breath so cold.
      C          D        G
She tears with breath so cold.

Life grows slow and feeble,
The strength of youth all spent,
We steel ourselves for winter,
Eyes dull and backs are bent,

We think on the spring long over,
A spark to keep us warm,
As we sing in the final harvest,
And wait for the snow and storm,

The muse she clears the broken,
The tired and the worn,
So in spring when buds do open,
The world can be reborn.