The Welsh Bards

There he is the Venomous King
Head in the clouds, our Praise should sing
Closer to God?But he is the Sod
Whose doing the Welsh Murdering

King Edward No, I shall not show
Nor break my bardic Seal
You are the black crow
Of Evil tidings don't you know
Such harm you cannot heal

King Edward, black of heart and mind
Go back to England there to find
Your throne's foundations rotted root
The day your  blighted hand played your family suit

Your coat of arms, a shield of death
Your pack of cards is missing a king of hearts

King:
I am here, I'm ever present
I put down the poor Welsh peasant
My English crown is most pleasant
When I wear it on my head

They're dead, they're dead
The Welsh are dead
My Kingdom knows a wider spread
Make way the Royal carriage lead
Up the Royal Road

Red, its red, the road that's lead
From my throne to this Welsh bed
Here an English castle build
With Spear and Sword I wield
Might is right, and the English fight
To conquer foreign field

Young Bard:
He's mad, he's bad
He's made us sad
What can we sing of now but sorrow
Tomorrow, tomorrow is another day
Dad, but what of the Welsh blood to borrow?

Old Bard:
Its drained, its drained
The life's been washed out by the English reign
Our Prince Llewellyn lies in pain
He's seen only sorrow

How now, I fought beside the Great
A Great man never knows love nor hate
Just daring do be he early or late
To fight the English Foe

But fight he does on Castle Rampart
Flinging spear, casting sharp dart
The arrow head as daggers sped
Into the English Horde
The Welsh fight on
In perennial rebellion
Ever shall daffodil flower yellow
Or the bluebell ring on
In green valley, or fields fallow
Ringing the chimes of freedom

Here are our hearts grown stout and strongest
Bringing courage over hard times longest
Waiting besieged in Castle Harlech
Or standing on the shore

Someday Wales will sing free again
Free of English will to cruel reign
Over hearts and minds
Bards will sing them, of Wales' Victory song

He sits there on his throne admiring
As beyond Welsh country folk are expiring
All for the joke of a United Kingdom
All under one yoke, one throne

See his might on pedestal put
As Majesty steps down its heavy foot
The poor welsh crown is crushed ash soot
In another burning town

See his face in the fire flaming
See the juices of meats and gaming
Set out on the banquet Naming
King Edward King of Wales

His son the poor boy such a weakling
Must follow suit and be a leak King
Prince of Wales is this meakling
Powdering nose and trailing coat tails

When do the ever self-abasing lords
Lay down their arms offer up their swords?
Yet we as Bards fight with our quills
Our tongues our bows, our arrows our words

We shall not deny our heritage
To speak Truth in place of false homage
To recognize infamy in the guise of virtue
To know a villain out beyond his curfew

Such are the acts of an honest bard
Not to dishonour his tradition
Though demands be deadly hard

What worth is a man's soul anyway?
A king's ransom? For King who will not pay?
One compliment given, is a sin to heaven
Even if a season in hell be my forfeit
Heaven knows a poet must speak
But truth guides his tongue
He must not be weak
To sell his soul for a lie
Or his pride for a leek?

I will wear it by my side
Until the stench does wreak
Then the king will know the bad air around him
Of the Welsh's men's hearts grown cold that surround him
The banquet table holds a chill as well
For all the soul's he's damned
Including his own straight to hell

So no I shall not sing his praises
King Edward is the poison of the middle ages
Wales the sick patient,
Only kept down in a perpetual sleep
May King Edward's Castle fall
and tumble into the deep