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There's a hole in the wall
There's a light down the hall
There's a pest in the system
So we'll surely hear it fall
There's a knife in my pouch
And a hammer in my belt
There's a pot on the fire
So the joy's yet to be felt
There's home, there's a well
There's a ringing of the bell
So tonight we feast on treasures
That they could never sell

Spirits sing, spirits fly
Through the window, see the sky
Where the moon calls not for slumber
But mischief, joy, and might

So our weapons seem not much to show
But they don't kill, they only help us grow
No they don't kill

We got our weapons
We brew a mighty ale
The dead are dancing on their graves
As drums and fiddles wail
We got our weapond
We bring them to stones
The victuals wer

There's a knock at the door
Well, I wonder who it's for
Gotcher walking stick a'ready
There still are different shores
With a mind in our heads
And a heart in our chests
With the world at our boot tips, lad
Our hands hold the rest

I've seen the towers they build on and up
I got the mirth already in my cup
i've felt the winds they try to bottle up and sell
I've walked an earth that they could never kill
No we won't kill

There's a hood 'round my shoulders
And a banjo in my hands
As the notes rise like smoke rings
Together shall we dance
This is the flicker through the window
"Food is warm in here," it beckons
While outside bites the winter air
Inside you'll find our weapons.
Weapons, weapons...

So our weapons seem not much to show
But they don't kill
They only help us grow

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