Title: Leave Your Steel at the Gate [Intro] (The steady "boom-chicka-boom" rhythm starts on a low-tuned lute. A mournful fiddle plays a short, lonely riff. The sound of a heavy portcullis clanking shut.) (Spoken in a gravelly, commanding voice): "Son, I’ve seen that look before. Fresh off the turnip cart, belt buckled tight, iron hanging like it’s a part of you. Let me tell you how this story ends..." [Verse 1] A farm boy came from the golden wheat where the air is sweet and still With a rusted blade his grandad found upon some ancient hill He reached the gates of the Iron Port, his heart a-pumping fast Leo stood there with his City Guard, hoping the boy would last "I’m here to find my fortune, Cap! I’m here to prove my worth!" But Leo saw the grave-dirt on the lad before he’d left the earth. He leaned upon his halberd and he spat into the dust And gave the lad the only law a city-dweller trusts! 🛡️ [Chorus] (The rhythm picks up, steady and relentless) "Don't take your swords to town, son Leave your steel at the gate The alleyways are narrow, boy And the hour’s getting late The mercenaries are thirsty and they’re faster than a snake One wrong look is all the invitation that they need to take! Don't take your swords to town..." [Verse 2] The boy just laughed a hollow laugh and adjusted his leather vest "I’ve fought off wolves and goblins, Cap, I’ve passed every little test!" But goblins don't use loaded dice or daggers dipped in bile And wolves don't wear a velvet coat and kill you with a smile! My boys in blue and silver, lad, they’ve seen a thousand like you They don't do 'honor' or 'duels'—they just do what they’re paid to do They’ll crack your ribs with a mace-head 'fore you draw a single inch The law in here is heavy, boy, and it likes a deadly pinch! ⛓️ [Chorus] "Don't take your swords to town, son Leave your steel at the gate The alleyways are narrow, boy And the hour’s getting late The mercenaries are thirsty and they’re faster than a snake One wrong look is all the invitation that they need to take! Don't take your swords to town..." [Bridge: The Cynical Breakdown] (The music slows slightly, just the bass and a slow, dark fiddle melody) He walked into 'The Salty Flagon' with his chest all puffed with pride He didn't see the shadow-man who moved with a ghostly glide A drunken sell-sword bumped his arm—the lad went for his hilt The floor was red before the first drop of his ale was even spilt! He lived without a clue, you see, back where the clover grows But here the wind is sharper, boy, as everybody knows He who lives without a clue, dies without a clue by the sword And now his name is just a line in the City Guard’s record board! 📜 [Solo: Rousing Fiddle and Mandolin duet - "Boom-chicka-boom" intensity] [Verse 3] I found him in the gutter as the moon began to rise With the starlight fading slowly from those stubborn, farm-boy eyes He tried to say a final word, perhaps a prayer or a plea But the only thing that answered was the moaning of the sea. I took his rusted relic and I tossed it in the bin Another piece of scrap-metal to pay for a city’s sin. So listen to old "Lucky" Leo, I’ve been around the block This city isn't a fairy tale—it’s a cold and jagged rock! 🪨 [Chorus] "Don't take your swords to town, son Leave your steel at the gate The alleyways are narrow, boy And the hour’s getting late The mercenaries are thirsty and they’re faster than a snake One wrong look is all the invitation that they need to take! Don't take your swords to town..." [Outro] (Rhythm fades to a slow, methodical stomp-stomp-clap) Yeah... keep your daggers in your boots, boys. Or better yet, keep 'em at home. My guards are tired, and the jail is full. Move along now. Next! (Final mournful fiddle note that ends abruptly with the sound of a heavy door slamming) [End]
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