Are we allowed weapons of any kind? A common dagger carried for self-defense? Our father's old sword that is kept on the mantle? The blacksmith bringing one of his hammers along? Things of that nature?
There's a map in my room, on the wall of my room And I've got big, big plans But I can see them slipping through, almost feel them slipping through The palms of my sweaty hands And I move slow Just slow enough to make you uncomfortable