Song of the Minstrel of the Holy Flannel

I am the minstrel of the Holy Flannel, I sing on nights of frost and glowing light, When the ice cracks beneath the faithful’s call And history rises again from dust and night. I have seen knights fall and rise once more, Hearts battered, yet their gaze held straight, Beneath the Habs’ armor, the courage to stand Still upright when faith begins to shake. Seven magic points out of a possible eight Give us reason to smile at life again, No cause to flee or to close like an oyster’s shell, Let us celebrate this newly earned gain. O Holy Flannel, mantle of the brave, You fly in the winds of ancient winters past, In every fold our battles lie asleep, In every thread beats Montréal’s heart. In the forests where the Wild still roar, I followed footsteps through the heavy snow, Between fear, the beast, and exile’s pull, Our colors never lowered their flag. When the alchemist tends to wounded flesh, By golden torchlight in the crypt of time, I sing to seal the healing scar And remind the fallen they still live. O Holy Flannel, sacred banner high, Neither night nor oblivion can claim you, You are an oath stitched deep into the skin, An entire city bound within one spell. And when the Sage of the After-Games Peers into the future through his crystal sphere, He sees, beyond the darkness of the nights, Proud and loyal tomorrows shining clear. I am the minstrel, keeper of the flame, I lend my voice to the footsteps of heroes, For as long as a child dreams before the ice, The Holy Flannel shall never fall.