[Intro – soft, reverent fingerstyle lute, slow and steady, crowd quiets down with respectful smiles] [Verse 1 – fond, slightly teasing, warm baritone] He wakes before the sunrise, mutters prayers while the rest still snore, Mends the fighter’s broken ribs and the wizard’s singed robes once more. Carries every holy symbol, every scroll, every flask of blessed wine, While the party runs ahead yelling “We’ll be fine!” [Pre-chorus – gentle chuckle in the voice] Nobody thanks him when the wounds all close, Nobody buys the round when the light still glows. [Chorus – heartfelt, rising, whole tavern lifts their mugs in toast] So here’s to the Cleric! Here’s to the Cleric! The one who keeps us breathing when the dice say we’re finished! Here’s to the Cleric! Here’s to the Cleric! The thankless holy bastard who never once diminished! He patches, he prays, he turns the dark away, Carries all our sins and still smiles at the break of day— Raise your cups high, let the rafters ring, Tonight we drink to the one who makes the party sing! [Verse 2 – warmer, more appreciative, light laughter] He blesses every rusty blade, every arrow, every boot, Cleanses curses from the rogue who swore he “totally didn’t loot.” Heals the hangover, heals the heartbreak, heals the stab wound in the back, While the bard writes epic songs that somehow leave the cleric out of the track. [Pre-chorus – softer, almost tender] He never asks for glory, never asks for gold, Just a quiet “thank you” before the next fight unfolds. [Bridge – voice swells with genuine respect, lute builds to full warm chords] When the last torch dies and the shadows start to bite, When even the fighter’s courage begins to lose the fight, He steps between the party and the dark with open hands— Turns the tide with whispered words nobody else understands. [Final Chorus – big, joyful, everyone singing loud and proud, mugs raised high] So here’s to the Cleric! Here’s to the Cleric! The one who keeps us breathing when the dice say we’re finished! Here’s to the Cleric! Here’s to the Cleric! The thankless holy bastard we’d be lost without, we’ll admit it! He patches, he prays, he turns the dark away, Carries all our sins and still smiles at the break of day— Raise your cups high, let the whole world ring, Tonight we drink to the Cleric— Gods know he’s earned everything! [Outro – lute slows back to gentle hymn, final warm chord lingers] To the Cleric… (soft crowd murmur) To the Cleric.
