Songs of Eryndor

I left my coat in Briar Hollow, My boots in Thornreach town, My purse beside a crooked mile Where all the signs fell down. I asked a crow which road was right; He laughed and stole my hat. Said, “Every road to Ashwater Will bring you round and back!”

So mind the river, mind the road, And mind the names you carry. Raise your cup to those who roam And those who choose to tarry. The mile may bend, the bridge may break, The stars may all forget, But everything lost at Ashwater Comes wandering home again!

Patrons: Again! Bard: Though not always as it went!

A merchant lost a wagon there, Three barrels and a mule. The barrels came back full of sand, The wagon crowned a fool. The mule returned a magistrate With spectacles and pen; He fined the road for wandering off And lost the road again!

So mind the river, mind the road, And mind the names you carry. Raise your cup to those who roam And those who choose to tarry. The mile may bend, the bridge may break, The stars may all forget, But everything lost at Ashwater Comes wandering home again!

Patrons: Again! Bard: Though not always as it went!

A sailor lost his sweetheart there One foggy autumn night. He followed every lantern flame Until the morning light. He found her shoes beside the shore, Her ribbon in a tree, And heard her singing underneath A black and moonless sea.

So mind the river, mind the road, And mind the names you carry. Raise your cup to those who roam And those who choose to tarry. The mile may bend, the bridge may break, The stars may all forget, But everything lost at Ashwater Comes wandering home again!

Patrons: Again! Bard: Though not always as it went!

I lost a name at Ashwater, A face beside the flame. I found the face three years from now, But it had lost my name. So drink to all remembered things And all we may forget; For nothing stays gone forever—

Patrons: It only comes back wet!

So mind the river, mind the road, And mind the names you carry. Raise your cup to those who roam And those who choose to tarry. The mile may bend, the bridge may break, The stars may all forget, But everything lost at Ashwater Comes wandering home again!

Patrons: Again! Bard, softly: Though not always as itself.

Bard: What happens when you lose your boots? Tavern: THEY COME BACK WET! Bard: What happens when you lose your wits? Tavern: THEY AIN’T COME BACK YET!

Old Barley Briggs went fishing With a bottle and a net. He lost the fish, he lost the boat, He lost his trousers yet. He stumbled home at sunrise With a mermaid in his bed—

Tavern: ’CAUSE EVERYTHING COMES BACK WET!

Wet, wet, soaking wet, Pay your tab and mind your debt! Lose your coat or lose your goat, You haven’t lost it yet! The river keeps what rivers like, But don’t you get upset—

Everyone: ’CAUSE EVERYTHING COMES BACK WET!

Young Marda lost her wedding ring While swimming in the bay. It washed ashore on Thursday On a finger made of clay. She married it by Friday And by Sunday they had fled—

Tavern: ’CAUSE EVERYTHING COMES BACK WET!

Wet, wet, soaking wet, Pay your tab and mind your debt! Lose your coat or lose your goat, You haven’t lost it yet! The river keeps what rivers like, But don’t you get upset—

Everyone: ’CAUSE EVERYTHING COMES BACK WET!

The mayor lost his dignity While dancing on a chair. We searched beneath the tables, But his dignity weren’t there. It floated up at Ashwater With pondweed on its head—

Tavern: ’CAUSE EVERYTHING COMES BACK WET!

A priest once lost his holy book And cursed the river blue. The river sent it home again With every word untrue. “Thou shalt drink six before the sun And seven before bed!”

Tavern: ’CAUSE EVERYTHING COMES BACK WET!

Wet, wet, soaking wet, Pay your tab and mind your debt! Lose your coat or lose your goat, You haven’t lost it yet! The river keeps what rivers like, But don’t you get upset—

Everyone: ’CAUSE EVERYTHING COMES BACK WET!

Bard: Now Nessa lost a silver cup— Nessa: I know which one of you took it. Bard: We searched the bar from end to end— Nessa: Put it back, and I’ll overlook it. Bard: It turned up in the pickle crock Beside a cabbage head—

Tavern: ’CAUSE EVERYTHING COMES BACK WET!

Nessa: That cup was not wet. Bard: It was after the pickles.

Wet, wet, soaking wet, Drink to every bad regret! Lose a shoe or lose a friend, The river won’t forget! And should you lose your way tonight, Remember what we said—

Everyone: EVERYTHING COMES BACK— Bard: Eventually. Everyone: WET!

Mind the door behind you, love, Mind the road before. Mind the name they gave you, love, And who had it before.

A house may dream it was a hill, A tent may wake as stone, A forest may remove itself And leave its ranger lone.

Do not trust the hearthfire, dear, It eats what it is fed. Do not trust the village well, It waters what is dead.

Do not ask the locals, love, They’ll swear the sky is green. The kinder ones forgot you first, The cruel ones saw the seam.

Three were spared by stepping out, Three came back too late. Three may hold the door ajar Before it shuts as fate.

So mind the door behind you, love, And mind the smiling key. For when the fourth room disappears, Who will remember me?

Before the stars had learned to shine, Or wind had found a path or sign, A pale stone slept beneath the night, Alone upon a sea of white.

Then from the dark an ember fell, And where it struck, none now can tell What passed between the spark and stone— For neither wished to yield the throne.

The ember burned. The cold held fast. Their silence broke the dark at last. A silver crack, a ringing tone— And earth awoke from seed and bone.

The mountains rose in ordered rows; By dusk, one turned. No singer knows What hand had tipped its crown aside, Or why the distant valleys sighed.

The rivers took their measured ways, Then wandered through the hills for days. One climbed a slope, one split in three, And one returned to mock the sea.

The forests grew beneath the skies, With crooked limbs and watchful eyes. The first stood straight, the next leaned low, As though they knew what none should know.

Then fire rose to crown the day, While frost became the moon’s pale ray. Yet heat still sleeps in mountain stone, And ice within the flame is known.

From ash came birds, from mud came beasts, From silver seas came scales and feasts. At last came folk with blood and breath, With names for life and laws for death.

They marked the roads and raised the wall, And swore each stone would never fall. But signs turned round before the dawn, And doors led where no room had gone.

So Eryndor was shaped and spun, By ordered frost and restless sun. And when spring ice begins to part, A bright laugh stirs beneath the heart.

The wise call this the river’s sound. The hills say nothing, curved and round. For still the world is being made— A careful line, a crooked shade.

I met a man at morning, I met him again at noon, I met him dead by candlelight Beneath a crooked moon.

He paid me with a copper, He paid me with a name, He paid me with a memory That never stayed the same.

Oh where did you come from, dear? Oh where did you go? “I came from the road that forgot me, And the room that does not know.”

His boots were full of ashes, His coat was full of rain, His pockets held three little maps All folded up in pain.

One map burned at the edges, One map grew roofs from hide, One map was only empty fields With pine trees trapped inside.

So drink, my friends, and listen, And bolt the windows tight. A man who dies three times by dusk May wake once more by night.

By ash without kindling, by flame without breath, A hunter came home to a town full of death. No spark in the rafters, no lamp overturned, Only one little workshop where everything burned.

By bucket and river, by well newly made, A child brought the water and found the camp stayed. Hide tents became rooftops, old stories grew stone, And everyone smiled like they’d always been home.

By rootless green shadow, by trail with no end, A ranger went walking with lover and friend. She came back with pine needles caught in her hair, To a field that insisted no forest was there.

Three little absences. Three little doors. Three little lives that were stolen from yours. And now at the Bent Nail, beneath roof and rain, The fourth little absence is starting again.

What do you do when the road forgets you? What do you do when the road forgets you? What do you do when the road forgets you? Early in the morning!

Burn the town and blame the fire, Raise the tents and call them spires, Cut the trees and bury the liars, Early in the morning!

Oh, step out once and miss the turning, Come back home and find it burning, Ask too loud and set them learning, Early in the morning!

What do you do with a dead man walking? What do you do with a dead man talking? What do you do when his shadow’s knocking? Early in the morning!

Give him a room and lose the number, Give him a name and watch it slumber, Give him a bell and hear it thunder, Early in the morning!

Ash for the cat and gears for the maker, Pines for the ranger, bread for the baker, Three little witnesses, one little breaker, Early in the morning!

Round and round the old wheel’s spinning, Nobody knows when the game is beginning, Laugh, little lambs, while the fox is grinning, Early in the morning!

What do you do when the fourth one’s taken? What do you do when the walls start waking? What do you do when the floor starts breaking? Early in the morning!

Run to the door but mind the weather, Tie your name with a bit of leather, Three remember or none together, Early in the morning!