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  • The Deserters of Glamorgan
    22 Feb 2004

    His eyes glazed and stomach full,
    Old Twm rolled right over,
    He'd spent the night in a ditch,
    After running away from Dover.

    Some comrades stood around him
    Each one anebriated,
    their pockets full of Edwards coin,
    the monarch they'd vacated.

    Old Twm pulled himself up,
    And called out to his friends,
    "Come on boys we must go,
    escape this certain end."

    The great bowmen of Glamorgan,
    Deserters of the crown,
    Arose from rest and slumber,
    In the field where they lay down.

    As they moved across the land,
    Recanting many stories,
    Of taverns dried and coffers robbed,
    They revelled in their glories.

    With their mighty long bow,
    They eluded the kings men,
    With knife and sword and arrow,
    They escaped time and again.

    Old Twm and his posse,
    The brothers Dewi and Ioan,
    And Glyn from the vales,
    Who knew where they were going.

    One afternoon a sheriff,
    Heard of the rogues arrival,
    And imediatly became concerned,
    With his own survival.

    He gathered a force of soldiers,
    Who's exploits were well known,
    And they waited in the woodlands,
    Where they would cut them down.

    It seemed like an age,
    They waited for the band,
    The archers fingers twitched,
    The footmen swords in hand.

    Then all of a sudden arrows,
    Sailed through the sky,
    Piercing the hearts of the army,
    As their leaders watched them die.

    Dewi and Ioan rode in,
    On the backs of stolen horses,
    Their daggers cut the necks,
    Of the kings terrified forces.

    Glyn hacked his way right through them,
    And sliced them with his axe,
    And Twm single handedly,
    Broke the armies back.

    He stood before the Sheriff,
    And challenged him to a fight,
    The Sheriff spat on the ground,
    And charged with all his might.

    At this moment Dewi,
    Took a knife to the back,
    And Ioan tried to save him,
    But was shot dead in his tracks.

    Glyn fought on so bravely,
    But he was run through by a sword,
    From the dying hand,
    Of the young son of a lord.

    Twm and the Sheriff battled,
    Cries echoed through the glade,
    Of an epic struggle,
    Of soul and wit and blade.

    The Sheriff at last relented,
    And Twm took his chance,
    And in a second killed him,
    With a shard of broken lance.

    Twm buried his lost comrades,
    And prayed for the fallen,
    And off marched the deserter,
    As a hero of Glamorgan.

    (Taken from Vespers)