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A war song composed by an unknown origin, this became popular within the Alliance faction during the 10-year-war and holds special importance to Skuld. The verses begin with the names of the days of the week and the second half of every refrain is a bit different.


Eistdat, we marched out to the bay,

swords in our hands and shoes filled with clay.

No sons and no daughters, no father no wife,

no one to mourn over this lonely life.



Bring me fine ladies and a tankard of ale!

I'll be a-braving the storm and the gale!

Bastards be waiting at the front line.

I got no stories to leave behind.



Deistdat, we waded into the marsh,

horses are useless and rainwaters harsh.

Water and water yet none safe to drink.

Fight on, my brothers, swim or sink.



Bring me fine ladies and a tankard of ale!

I'll be a-braving the storm and the gale!

Ain't got my eyes fixed beyond the ship stern.

I've got no sweetheart guarding my return.



Tristdat, been weeks and we fight on the lakes.

At least on the mountains it's too cold for snakes.

Captain's a-buried and I've lost an eye.

Now I've got only half the tears to cry.



Bring me fine ladies and a tankard of ale!

I'll be a-braving the storm and the gale!

Weary and tired, barely much bread.

I've got nobody to cry when I'm dead.



Qerstdat, my brothers have dropped one by one.

Even that whore of a sergeant is gone.

Cursing them Hurrons, we hold our shields high.

There are still brothers who don't wish to die.



Bring me fine ladies and a tankard of ale!

I'll be a-braving the storm and the gale!

Nowhere to go to and nowhere to run,

the only escape is by spear or by gun.



Freistdat, surrounded and not a way out.

Down to a medic, a horse and a scout.

Medic's a-crippled, the horse worst I've seen.

And scout's but a young boy, barely fifteen.



Bring me fine ladies and a tankard of ale!

I'll be a-braving the storm and the gale!

I heaved to my feet, this was my last stand,

a helm on my head and a knife in my hand.



Suistdat, the boy, the cripple and steed,

ran like the wind and scattered like seed.

Blood drenched my shoulders down to my knee,

they've never seen an old man quite like me.



Bring me fine ladies and a tankard of ale!

I'll be a-braving the storm and the gale!

Ten men were fallen, twenty a-bleed.

Fifty lay dead when I finished my deed.



Seistdat, they led me half-dead to the wheel,

too weak to stand and too hurt to kneel.

They told me I was to see my last day,

and any last wishes I was free to say.



So I said,



Bring me fine ladies and a tankard of ale!

I've gone and conquered the storm and the gale!

Carry me o'er, throw my bones into the sea.

My brothers, strive, and remember me!

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