As I was wandering through Pennsic on the last night before everyone left, seeing camps that had been taken down to the bare minimum needed for that one last night where once a sea of canvas and nylon stretched, I was struck by the yellowed patches of grass that were the only markers were tents had been.
This is a sort of melancholy song for me, and it’s become a tradition for me to sing it on the last night of Pennsic before we head home, even if it is only to myself.
Edit: The lyrics have been updated as of August 2015, and thanks to Mistress Rosalind Jehanne for helping me tighten up the phrasing. I’ll put up a new recording with the new lyrics when I have the time, but the melody is unchanged.
- Empty patches of tired grass
- Are all we leave behind.
- Empty patches of tired grass
- The only thing to find.
- The tents are struck, the banners furled
- The armor stored away
- What glory left upon the field
- Is for the bards to say.
- The time must come for things to end
- Be still, my breaking heart.
- And though I do not want to leave,
- ‘Tis time for us to part.
- Empty patches of tired grass
- We’re leaving with the sun.
- Empty patches of tired grass
- Our warring days are done.
- The campfires are ashes now
- The cookware put aside
- The merchants have packed up their wares
- Their shops and homes to find.
- The stage is struck, the bards gone home
- Thus all that’s left behind
- Are tales of heroes’ deeds so bold
- And ballads of this time.
- Empty patches of tired grass
- The Army’s come and gone.
- Empty patches of tired grass
- Are all that will live on.
- The truce is called, the war is done
- The armies marched away
- Returning to their far homelands
- Upon the break of day
- And as I glance behind me
- And I shed a quiet tear
- Yet my heart is full of hope
- We’ll meet again next year.
- Empty patches of tired grass
- Are all we leave behind.
- Empty patches of tired grass
- The only thing to find.