Title:	The Harper
By:	Mike Richards
Date:	March 1, 1998

There's a minstrel who sits there at the corner of the bar,
And he nurses a drink by the fire,
For a decade he's wandered the breadth of these lands,
Rejecting all offers of hire.
  For he wanders far and wide, with his guitar at his side,
  And his harp nestled snugly in his pack,
  And he plays for one and all, in a tavern or lord's hall,
  Then he smiles as he leaves, not looking back.

There's a minstrel who sits there at the corner of the bar,
And a few sometimes wonder of his life,
For he sings much of others but naught of himself,
And loneliness cuts like a knife.
  Yet he never will stay, for much more than a day,
  Then he's back in the saddle on the track,
  With no-one by his side, not a friend to share his ride,
  Still he smiles as he leaves, not looking back.

(instrumental verse and chorus)

There's a minstrel who sits there at the corner of the bar,
And when pressed he will tell of his home:
These lands are my house and these people my kin,
And my love she comes with me when I roam.
  While I wander far and wide, she is always by my side,
  In my hands or secure in my sack,
  With more kin just down the road, leaving's not a heavy load,
  So I always look forward, never back.