HPK High Seas Adventuring teim nao yes

In the Ports of Ilfirin

In the port of Ilfirin there’s a sailor who sings
Of the dreams that he brings from the wide open sea
In the port of Ilfirin there’s a sailor who sleeps
While the river bank weeps to the old willow tree
__
In the port of Ilfirin there’s a sailor who dies
Full of beer, full of pride in a drunken town fight
And in the port of Ilfirin there’s a sailor who’s born
On a hot muggy morn by the dawn’s early light
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In the port of Ilfirin where the sailors all meet
There’s a sailor who eats only fish heads and tails
And he’ll show you his teeth that have rotted too soon
That can haul up the sails that can swallow the moon
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And he yells to the cook with his arms open wide
“Bring me more fish, put it down by my side”
And he wants so to belch but he’s too full to try
So he stands up and laughs and he zips up his fly
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In the port of Ilfirin you can see sailors dance
Paunches bursting their pants grinding women to paunch
They’ve forgotten the tune that their whiskey voice croaked
and they’re splitting the night with the roar of their jokes
__
And they turn and they dance and they laugh and they lust
To the rancid sounds from the accordion bursts
And then it’s out into the night with their pride in their pants
with a slut that they tow underneath the street lamps
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In the port of Ilfirin there’s a sailor who drinks
And he drinks and he drinks and he drinks once again
He’ll drink to the health of the whores of Ilfirin
Who’ve promised their love to a thousand other men
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And they’ve bargained their bodies, and their virtue’s long gone
For a few dirty coins, and when he can’t go on
he plants his nose in the sky and he laughs at it up above
And he spits like I cry on the unfaithful love
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In the port of Ilfirin
In the port of Ilfirin

As the young Sailor lowers his instrument in the Tempest Tavern a collection of patrons, and several of the serving girls pause to applaud. The day has worn well into evening as Drix, Aria, Serenla and Raille have now moved to sit at a small table near the back of the common room.

The bartender, still practically giddy with the amount of wealth he’s getting out of Aria, stops by again for the 3rd time this hour, topping off ale and making sure his best patrons of the evening are settled in. Another round is called, and a new minstrel steps up on the platform at the far end of the room that this barkeep calls a stage.

In the distance is a sound like distant thunder echos through the night as the barman walks away. . . .

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