The Supplicants Lullaby

Feed the beggar man
 Oh give him what you can
 He's at your door
 Making supplication pleas
 His story it isn't so strange, more likely that it is all too familiar
 Exiled and cut adrift at sea and he knows he'll never reach back to the centre
 Take the old mother's hand
 It's gnarled and desperate
 Kiss her brow at the end
 She's lost all her children to war
 Her tale is not simply one of woe, it's the short prose you wrote at school
 And you held her then, so why not now when you've both grown younger?
 Taste the hermit's malt
 Thirty years, yet un-open
 Toast the passing dawn
 Like all light so fleeting
 No emptiness behind his smile; he keeps his faith deep within the heart
 So rest, close your eyes and I'll be by your side 'til morning