Forgive me, master, if I hear no rhyme in your glory ode 
As it was sung in the days of yore 
Now we sing our own 
You see, I got this dream of turning grey 
And having cleared off every plate 
And to never look to tomorrow's rogues 
To say they went too far today, hey! 

To long to awaken every soul 
From the calm that quells their storm 
From the peace that blinds them through the times 
When they should have gone to war 
Mother, cry and weep for your bright babe 
Father, hold her through the rains 
Let the thieves not take her away from me 
And turn her to a slave of the trades 

The dreams of the morning 
Let me not die mourning 
May the sirens turn [bad word] 
As we carry on a'laughing 
As we carry on a'laughing all the way 

May there always be fish in your streams 
And water in your wells 
And to those that peddle empty heavens 
We'll take your silver [bad word] like [bad word] 
May there always be rage in your heart 
When a master brings the reigns 
To detest the thieves of our daughters and sons 
And raise from the dead today 

The dreams of the morning 
Let me not die mourning 
May the [bad word] a'crying 
Carry me away a'laughing 
As we all go a'laughing to storytelling graves