Lyrics

Come gather ‘round and hear my tale,
Of an orc so strong, yet doomed to fail!
A walking storm, a raging plight,
The one they call the MoonKnight!

He eats with rage, he drinks with spite,
He snarls at wind, he loathes the light!
He blames the sun when he falls in sand,
But swears his strength still rules the land!

Ohhh, beware, beware, the MoonKnight’s glare,
He’ll fight the wind, he’ll fight the air!
And if you dare to call him small,
He’ll blame the mug and break the hall!

He left the Light, for it was weak,
Then sought the druids, strength to seek.
But peace and wisdom? Bah! He swore—
“Balance is for cowards and bores!”

He punched a tree, he punched a bear,
He punched an elder (who did not care).
They cast him out, they let him be,
And so he wandered, wild and free!

Ohhh, beware, beware, the MoonKnight’s glare,
He’ll fight the wind, he’ll fight the air!
And if you dare to call him small,
He’ll blame the mug and break the hall!

Then whispers came from fel-lit skies,
A moon burned green before his eyes!
A beast called out, a mighty screech,
"Come forth, my fool! My strength I teach!"

And so he roared and so he grew,
His feathers burned in fel-lit hue!
But still he fumed, still he cursed,
Still his temper was the worst!

Ohhh, beware, beware, the MoonKnight’s glare,
He’ll fight the wind, he’ll fight the air!
And if you dare to call him small,
He’ll blame the mug and break the hall!

Now here he walks, both strong and grand,
But still complains of dirt and sand!
He fights the weak, he shouts, he swears,
And stares too long at passing stares!

So if you see him, mind your tone,
And leave that big and angry orc alone!
For I once laughed—I sang too bold…
(Oh gods, my ribs… they never healed…)

(Final lute chord cuts as the bard is suddenly dragged offscreen, the sound of a WHACK and a crash as the tavern erupts in laughter.)