(All sound ceases and all lights go out except a spotlight that appears on a solitary figure in the corner, bent over his mug)
All these youngsters come from wide and far,
to sing here in this bloody bar.
They laugh and shout and sing and fight,
but they're in for an awful frigggghhht...
(The last words is dragged on and on, dropping down the octave. As it ends, a full band chimes in with gusto and the man begins to wander around the room with a sour expression. He stops to talk directly into the faces of various eager young adventurers, leaving them looking much less eager)
When they're off to see the world, the world will also see them.
They'll slog and march and stumble, through bracken and swamp and fen.
Their swords will all get blunted, their arrows will all get wet.
They'll go from rich in treasure to buried alive in debt.
And then, and then, and then, and thennnnn...
then they'll know the adventurer's life I lead.
The battles will all be bloody, the castles will all be cold.
They'll see many a hoard of treasure but keep not a piece of gold.
They'll fight ogres and trolls and orcs, maybe even some dragons.
And to forget, they'll drink beers in flagons and flagons and flagons.
And then, and then, and then, and thennnnn...
then they'll know the adventurer's life I lead.
Tavern beds are always lumpy, the baths are always cold.
But as hard as I try, will these youngsters be told?
I tell them of the hardships, I tell them of the plights.
But all they ever think of is the women and the sights.
And when, and when, and when, and whennnnn...
when will they know the adventurer's life I lead?
(The band's theme drops aways as the man returns to his seat.)
Perhaps I'm old and bitter and know naught of what I speak.
Perhaps they'll even find the grand adventure that they seek.
(The man glares into his tankard and shakes his head. The main theme returns for the last line.)
Or, more likely, they'll be dead by the end of the week!
