I was just a Wessex lad
Not a saint, but not too bad
Til I was taken by that dreadful bakery
Oh they sold me a cheap pie,
Cut my throat, then made me rise!
Vivamortian, you made a monster outta me!
CHORUS:
Oooh, won't you tell me cunning lies
Oooooh, 'bout the contents of your pies
Oooh, you're doing Vivamortian rites
Fat-bottomed ghouls, you make the rocking world FREEZE 10!
Pile 'em high and sell them low,
For as necromancers know,
Only cannibals reanimate as ghouls
In my warehouse at the back,
I hoard undead for my attack
GO, MY MINIONS!
AHAHAHA, NOW DIE, YOU FOOLS!
CHORUS
What's that now, a mob of scum,
From that pit the Wessex... Uhm?
But my cultist, he shall see the tables turn!
What, a Miraculous escape?
Why didn't you gag them, for fuck's sake?
AGH, THE OVEN, OH KING OF VAMPIRES, HOW IT BURNS!
CHORUS
Down the Upwold Hills
It's an ill wind full of scorn,
For on that wind blew a mighty horde
Of barbarians from the Mourn
Muster up, my fine strong Marcher folk
To the Village Armoury,
Buckle on your swords now and take your bills,
Raise the Stoke banner high for me!
Orcs came to our walls with spear, axe and sword,
And the arrows they arced high,
For we all must wait by the Labytrinth's gate
But for a few, came their time to die.
Muster up, my fine strong Marcher folk
To the Village Armoury,
Buckle on your swords now and take your bills,
Raise the Stoke banner high for me!
To the Marcher town of Ashill rode a stranger one fine day
Hardly spoke to folks around him didn't have too much to say
No one dared to ask his business no one dared to make a slip
for the stranger there among them had a Cudgel on his hip
Cudgel on his hip
It was early in the morning when he strode into the town
He came walking from the south side slowly lookin' all around
He's an bandit fierce and fleeing came the whisper from each lip
And he's here to do some business with the Cudgel on his hip
Cudgel on his hip
In this town there a lived sorcerer by the name of Alice Hurst
Keen with deadly invocations and with blighting Winter curse.
She was cold and grim and twisted though a youth of twenty four
And the ears upon her stave they numbered one and nineteen more
One and nineteen more
Now the stranger started talking made it plain to folks around
He was an Thresher down from Upwold wouldn't be too long in town
He came here to take an sorcerer numbered far amongst the worst,
And he said it didn't matter he was after Alice Hurst
After Alice Hurst
The morning passed so quickly it was time for them to meet
It was twenty past eleven when they walked out in the street
Folks were watching from their windows every-body held their breath
They knew this virtuous Thresher was about to meet his death
About to meet his death
There was fifteen feet between them when they stopped to make their play
And the swiftness of the thresher is still talked about to-day
She had barely started chanting, when that axe through staff it ripped, And the Thresher's blow was vicious with the Cudgel on his hip Cudgel on his hip
Thresher, the Thresher.
When she tried to match the ranger with the big iron on his hip The storm jade on his hip
She charged at twenty thousand Orcs without a block o’bills!
She charged at twenty thousand Orcs without a block o’bills!
She charged at twenty thousand Orcs without a block o’bills!
And she ain’t gonna charge no more!
Fools to glory, an embarrassing way to die!
For a Marcher soldier’s Loyal and sure their mates are standing by!
The got no Wisdom and they got no cause for Pride
And they ain’t gonna fight no more!
He strode out to the battlefield without his helmet on!
He strode out to the battlefield without his helmet on!
He strode out to the battlefield without his helmet on!
And he ain’t gonna fight no more!
Guilty feet have got no rhythm...
He was only the bakers son
but he sure did use his loaf
when he'd find a hideaway
for a quick roll in the hay
'twas a mighty pleasure for 'em both!
All praise be to Dagon,
Under the sea!
Let those who grant him not his Third
Suffer eternally
Their crews they shall be scattered
The boats ripped apart
And dark seawater fill their lungs
Til the last beat of their heart
All praise be to Dagon
Under the sea,
Grandfather of the stygian depths
Thy Sailors worship thee!