SANG THE WAKEBARD
C Ra McGuirt
Jay he was by Law, but all here called him Scott
It was his middle name, and fit him well
Christ was not his Way. If you say he went to Hell
Make sure you speak this lie where I am not.
We mostly called him Scotty back in his wild youth
When Jay enjoyed his smoke and knew a knife
Could have won a scholarship with his good hand at art
But the teacher, she abhorred the things he liked:
Warlords wielding wicked swords of bloody dripping steel
With buxom wenches on their brawny arms
Ninja masters sneaking up to do some shadow-harm
I hated her for hexing him, and that’s how I still feel.
Scott never was a hero like a quarterback in school
He didn’t slay some foemen in a war
Loved his wife and children, and worked hard ‘til one day
He couldn’t stand the struggle any more.
I took him to his ending not knowing that it was.
Was there to find him fallen to my floor
Watched over him a fortnight until they asked me, “Sir,
His brain is dead at last; should we do more?”
I said he wouldn’t want it, then I drove on down
To the place that did my Mom not long ago
Bought from them the freeing fire Scott had asked me for
Then took me home, where grief smiled by the door
A Wake we had on Southern land owned by Father Ray
Mad O’Rourke, he came, and many more
From a few miles and from hundreds. We all ate and laughed
As Jay Scott would have wanted, I am sure
Left out of this song, I know, are many major things
Like Scott’s apprenticeship to Master Lee
Far across the ocean, where Jay acquired some Light:
Fiercer ways to fight, and walk in peace
In this little world, I know I’m not the best of bards,
But though it hurts me hard, I still must sing
For the simplest of reasons; I know you all can see--
Jay Scott was my brother, and he died.
