Pay The Blind Man, (Unfinished)

You will always find him,
A huddled ‘gainst the cold,
a-wrapped in shawl,
by the roaring fireplace,
till the evnin’ bell does toll.

And so we’ll pay the blind man,
to tell all the tales,
of things he’s never seen,
of places he’s never been,
to take us along with him,
while he shows us his world.

And the stories he does tell us,
of brave knights and things of old,
of places far away
and days of long ago,

And yet we always wonder,
while his stories unfold,
how they seem so real to him,
yet to ask would be too bold.

And so we’ll pay the blind man,
to tell all the tales,
of things he’s never seen,
of places he’s never been,
to take us along with him,
while he shows us his world.

And one night we come in,
and his by the fire’s bare,
The replaced and brand new,
as though he’d never been there,

We find ourselfs a-wondering,
where our bard did go,
he took with him our wonder,
and his tales of long ago.

And yet we’d still pay the blind man,
to tell all the tales,
of things he’s never seen,
of places he’s never been,
to take us along with him,
while he shows us his world.

Black Xanthus, 6 Dec, 2007