Song of Steel

In a field of stone and steppes so cold
In a town called Loch Teray
There lived a wiry blacksmith
And his son named Mac Leneigh
Their days were filled with fire and ore
And the rhythm of the steel
But through the night old Mac Leneigh
Would dream of battle fields

On a solstice of the winters eve
Old Mac Leneigh did dream
Of a blade so mighty strong and pure
With an edge so sharp and keen
He rose and tromped out
Through the snow
To the mine he knew so well
And through the night he gathered up
The blessed ore that fell

For thirteen days and thirteen nights
his hammer fell like rain
Ne’er he drank and ne’er he slept
Ignored his muscle’s pain
And on the final night he struck
His final hammer blow
And as he drew his final breath
He quenched the blade in snow

Steam rose up around his arm
And took a form so fair
A maiden fey stood bare to him
And led him to her lair
She took him by the hand and led
Him deep into the mine
And there she kissed his burning brow
And blessed his lips with wine

Young Mac Leneigh, that fateful day
Rose early in the morn
He went out to the forge
Where the blade was born
Grief it struck deep in his chest
As he gazed upon the steel
He knew his father’s final act
And before it did he kneel

Father dear, your dreams be here
Bound and forged in fire
I’ll take this blade out to the wood
And build a funeral pyre
Then to the battle I shall go
And to a warrior’s grave
And lead the life you dreamt about
Not as the forge’s slave

And to the battle I shall go
And to a warrior’s grave
And lead the life you dreamt about
Not as the forge’s slave