|
|
Post by Lorraine Lannister on Aug 27, 2012 23:21:37 GMT -5
A battered collection of papers crudely stitched together with string and covered with scrawled handwriting, this is where Aymery Westerling records his songs. Many lines are crossed out.
|
|
|
|
Post by Lorraine Lannister on Aug 27, 2012 23:41:34 GMT -5
The Ballad of the Pig Princess
My lady of Dorne, she grew so large
Her body swelled up like a barge
Directly at me she did charge
Like a boar toward hunter's spear
The Pig Princess she seemed at first
Like she had an incredible thirst
Her weight on me it was the worst
Of crushed bones I did fear
Simply terrible. I will never be a poet.
At least I will be a knight on my sixteenth nameday.
|
|
