A traveling song from ancient time,

when life was new, as was rhyme,

is what we sing this dreary night,

to hearten us for the coming fight.

When ogres and trolls are ahead,

and we face the coming day with dread,

we gladly embrace anything

that can make us laugh and sing.

For in the eve, spirits sink,

and even the very water we drink

tastes different and somehow stale,

as we wish for home and ale.

We watch as the night grows deep,

and we know we cannot sleep.

For there is fright deep within

of never again seeing our kin.

Death awaits us all someday.

We know life has a price to pay,

but we pray our turn is not near,

as we vainly try to hide our fear.

Alas, tonight may be our last;

we all atone for our past.

"Is it enough to save our souls now?"

we ask with furrowed brows.

Should our lives end come morn,

is it likely we can be reborn,

or will our lives cease forever,

as insubstantial as a drifting feather?

Hark, the night owl cries aloud!

So listen now, you downcast crowd!

We can do naught but struggle on

and face what comes with the dawn.