| Before the cruel war was on, I was so strong
|
| Now I am gaunt and drawn, now I am dying
|
| And now the cruel war is on, she brings me a son
|
| And I know some foreign one has been with her, lying
|
| I know by his cradle cry, I know by his whine
|
| I know by the black of his eye, he’s no son of mine
|
| Now the cruel war is on, I must be ready
|
| Though there’s no warlike bone in all my body
|
| Though there’s no warlike bone in all my body
|
| Now the cruel war is on, I must be ready
|
| Be ready, be ready, I must be ready
|
| Now the cruel war is on, I must be ready
|
| But how can I fell my foe with only an unstrung bow?
|
| How can the war be won as long as my blade’s unswung?
|
| I’ll give you the grip of my hand, I’ll give you my word
|
| He will come to his end on the end of your sword
|
| I’ll give you my grip and word, you will be ready
|
| I’ll give you my grip and word, you will be ready |