We’re balladeers for mortal men,
We trade in tales from mortal words
And roam for now this mortal world
To die and then to be born again.
We see seas of green and woods of white
And birds that roam the endless skies,
Waves of weed and ashen plains.
We see them fade before our eyes
And replace them with stories, replace them with music,
Replace them with pools of golden light:
We paint the clouds, build our own trees
And plant our own gardens by emerald seas.
We’re those who give back.
We are those who trade.
We’re those who mend what others must break.
We’re chansonniers, and we’re hungry sometimes:
We need to drink blood,
We need to breathe wine,
And sometimes we need to burn witches for light.
But in every barren we plant a new seed,
We paint a bright picture, we foster conceit
And sing songs about the green water’s crown.
We go dance in the graveyards,
We play in the gore,
Throw confetti on bloodshed,
By every door we draw signs of the people who lived there before.
We’re to honor the scale:
Beauty’s never extinct,
Life is never in vain, only sometimes insane.
We’re equiliberators – mortal men.