Madigan Family/Dayne The Bastard Bard/The Songs of Dayne the Bard
The Overlady's Dilemma
Once my Overlord came to me
And said my dear, pray harken and see
A son I need, a priest he will be
To rescue me from lock and key.
So he hefted his spear and leapt astride
And with his paltry instrument trust inside
Scare a minute had passed or less besides
Til the Overlord finished his premature ride.
Now nine months later it was plain and clear
A little foul beast had grown in here
I asked for his name and was shocked to hear
"1st Son - of many to be born, my dear"
Now many years later and my body ails
You'd think after nine sons his ardor would fail
But my Overlord still lifts his tiny tail
To make those wicked sons to save him from jail.
How I wish I had a strong and handsome mate
Like King Fingolfin, the Fiercesome and Great
But instead I have this beastly husband I hate
With a great fat gut and a balding pate.
So gentlemen of the realm please harken to me
And listen to the Overlady, sad as can be:
You're all tired of these son, its plain to see
Well try bouncing NINE on your poor old knee.
The Savior of the North
(Sung in the style of The Rains of Castamere)
Who shall face me, said the demon lord,
Who seeks deliverance to death?
No mortal man shall rise to me
None that shall draw breath.
But with a shining sword
and heart of steel,
Sir Darius stood bold and tall
The Dawn refused to kneel.
And so he laughed, and so he laughed
the Darkness of the North
But now we sit atop his skull
As Unger's sons go forth.
And who are you, the darkness roared,
What fool dares challenge me?
"A son of Thalmarkin", the knight replied
"From whose blade you will flee!"
In battle joined the two crossed arms,
the Darkness and the Day
And with a true thrust of his bright blade
The evil he did slay.
And so he laughed, and he laughed,
The Bringer of the Morn.
For his sword had fetched a prize
A fine head for Unger to adorn!
Benedicta, The Rose of Tralee
The pale moon was rising above the green mountains,
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea;
When I strayed into the midst of a black demon horde,
That massed in the beautiful Vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me;
Oh no, 'twas the steel in her hand and the fight in her eyes,
That made me love Benny, the Rose of Tralee.
The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading,
And Benny, all smiling, blades sharp as can be;
The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding,
When my hear was won by the Rose of Tralee.
Though lovely and fair as the Rose of the summer,
Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me;
Oh no, 'twas the strength of her arm and curve of her mouth,
that made me love Benny, the Rose of Tralee.
In the far fields of Pomatin, 'mid wars dreadful thunders,
Her voice was a solace and comfort to me,
But the command of a king has now rent us asunder,
I'm lonely tonight for the Rose of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me;
Oh no, 'twas her skill at arms and the fire in her eyes,
that made me love Benny, the Rose of Tralee.
