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Conorach
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Of Spices and Gold
We left our homes when the leaves were green,
The tide was high, the sun shone bright.
Spirits were up for the trip ahead,
If only we had known...
The seas were too rough and the skies turned dark,
Foul weather violently beat our ship.
The promise of gold without an end,
Made us carry on.
Nine men gathered 'round one fateful day,
A scheme of brilliance they had had.
To control the Eastern sea-trade routes,
Their foes to ruin condemned.
A bottle of wine, an adventure was planned,
For this group of merchants nine.
And so here we are in this casket of oak,
Lured in by riches' gleam.
We leave together but who will return?
This folly of trade, when will we learn?
We strive for our riches and die in its name,
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But the masters get richer and we starve all the same.
Our holds are filled up to the brim,
With spices that will make us rich.
The folks at home will never ask,
Just how these were begot.
Brave men have died on this pursuit,
But sly men may survive the cut.
This game is not for the faint of heart,
Let the scrupulous take care!
We leave together but who will return?
This folly of trade, when will we learn?
We strive for our riches and die in it's name,
But the masters get richer and we starve all the same.
We leave together but who will return?
This folly of trade, when will we learn?
We strive for our riches and die in it's name,
But the masters get richer and we starve all the same.
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