Down the hall I hear familiar thuds,
The boom of a grand laugh,
Amused by his own attempt at song,
He calls me by whichever witty name he wishes,
I care not,
For his loyalty is eternal,
In our Lord's absence the halls have hushed,
But for Redbeard's rumble,
And the few who come and go,
I take comfort in his excess,
The spilling of the ale,
The banging of the tables,
My duty binds me to steady his sway,
Fall not to disarray,
Fall not to ourselves,
How many seasons since we last had cause?
Redbeard never asks,
My guilt stays me from telling,
"The Crow, The Crow will fly again."
He bangs along in time,
The maid claps in habit,
I stand to sing and I forget,
As is my routine,
Redbeard falls asleep.
