THE MINSTREL AND THE SEVEN VEILS

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V6-MINI

(Intro)

Beyond the walls of Carreg Cennen,
When moon was silver on the stone,
There came a minstrel from the west
Who sang of women not his own.

His cloak was green, his harp was black,
His voice could make the winter cease;
He praised the rose, he kissed the thorn,
Then rode away in search of peace.

The miller's daughter heard him sing
Beside the river after dark;
He called her eyes two morning stars,
Her lips the fire, her heart the lark.

She asked him, “When the morning comes,
Will I be more than yesterday?”
He smiled and tuned his silver strings,
And sang another song away.

Chorus

Oh, lady, lady, close the gate,
The night is sweet, the road is wide;
A man may worship what he sees
And never ask what lives inside.
For every rose he gathers there,
Another grows beneath the moon;
The minstrel leaves before the dawn —
And leaves the women with the tune.

III

A widow in a tower high
Had heard his name in distant lands;
She wore no jewels, held no crown,
But kept her father's silver bands.

He called her “queen” beneath the stars,
Then “maiden” when the candles died;
By morning she had learned his tongue
Could make a kingdom out of lies.

Three sisters watched him cross the field,
Their dresses white against the rain;
The eldest laughed, the youngest frowned,
The middle one looked through his eyes
As though she knew him just the same.

She said, “You love the songs you sing.
But do you love the ones who hear?”
The minstrel's hand fell from the string.
For once, the silence answered clear.

Chorus

They say he met a woman once
Who would not bow beneath his song.
She neither praised his golden hair
Nor told him he was right or wrong.

She simply watched him cross the hall
And said, “Your mirror knows your face.
But if you wish to know a heart,
You'll have to stay here in one place.”

The minstrel laughed. The minstrel frowned.
The minstrel reached to take his leave.
But something in her quiet eyes
Was harder than a sword to cleave.

Now travellers tell, in tavern smoke,
Of one who rides beneath the moon,
Who gathers names like autumn leaves
And turns them all to silver tunes.

But in a chapel far away,
Where ivy climbs the ancient wall,
Seven women hear his music still —
And none remembers him at all.

Final Chorus

Oh, lady, lady, bar the door,
Let no sweet tongue decide your worth;
A song may make the heavens move
And still leave one heart on the earth.
The rose is not the hand that takes,
The moon is not the eye that sees;
And no man owns the song he sings
Of women walking through his dreams.

Outro

And sometimes, when the bells are low,
A distant harp is heard at night.

He sings of every woman —
But never asks
what she might write....
(fade to finale)

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(Intro) Beyond the walls of Carreg Cennen, When moon was silver on the stone, There came a minstrel from the west Who sang of women not his own. His cloak was green, his harp was black, His voice could make the winter cease; He praised the rose, he kissed the thorn, Then rode away in search of peace. II The miller's daughter heard him sing Beside the river after dark; He called her eyes two morning stars, Her lips the fire, her heart the lark. She asked him, “When the morning comes, Will I be more than yesterday?” He smiled and tuned his silver strings, And sang another song away. Chorus Oh, lady, lady, close the gate, The night is sweet, the road is wide; A man may worship what he sees And never ask what lives inside. For every rose he gathers there, Another grows beneath the moon; The minstrel leaves before the dawn — And leaves the women with the tune. III A widow in a tower high Had heard his name in distant lands; She wore no jewels, held no crown, But kept her father's silver bands. He called her “queen” beneath the stars, Then “maiden” when the candles died; By morning she had learned his tongue Could make a kingdom out of lies. IV Three sisters watched him cross the field, Their dresses white against the rain; The eldest laughed, the youngest frowned, The middle one looked through his eyes As though she knew him just the same. She said, “You love the songs you sing. But do you love the ones who hear?” The minstrel's hand fell from the string. For once, the silence answered clear. Chorus Oh, lady, lady, close the gate, The night is sweet, the road is wide; A man may worship what he sees And never ask what lives inside. For every rose he gathers there, Another grows beneath the moon; The minstrel leaves before the dawn — And leaves the women with the tune. V They say he met a woman once Who would not bow beneath his song. She neither praised his golden hair Nor told him he was right or wrong. She simply watched him cross the hall And said, “Your mirror knows your face. But if you wish to know a heart, You'll have to stay here in one place.” The minstrel laughed. The minstrel frowned. The minstrel reached to take his leave. But something in her quiet eyes Was harder than a sword to cleave. VI Now travellers tell, in tavern smoke, Of one who rides beneath the moon, Who gathers names like autumn leaves And turns them all to silver tunes. But in a chapel far away, Where ivy climbs the ancient wall, Seven women hear his music still — And none remembers him at all. Final Chorus Oh, lady, lady, bar the door, Let no sweet tongue decide your worth; A song may make the heavens move And still leave one heart on the earth. The rose is not the hand that takes, The moon is not the eye that sees; And no man owns the song he sings Of women walking through his dreams. Outro And sometimes, when the bells are low, A distant harp is heard at night. He sings of every woman — But never asks what she might write.... (fade to finale)

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