War Of The Pints

The Innkeeper:
In the tavern warm and calm,
On that foggy night,
Happened the most unusual fight
I have been given to see.

Every man came with a joyful mood,
Ordering tons of drink and food
As in the corner of the hall
Sat a lonesome musician.

So he began to play his flute
In the light of the fireplace.
Suddenly every man in the inn
Got up to sing and dance!

All the place was shouting loud
But still the woodwind did resound
Like a thousand voices
Chanting in unison!

But then an old drunken man threw his pint on the floor
As his youngest fellow called his wife a whore!
The old one replied by a spit on the younger's feet.
So the angry lad answered by a hit!

Soon all the mob gathered around the fighting fools,
Some encouraging the boy and others the old drunkard.
Insults shouted from both sides of the crowd.
Violence rose while the flute did wail her sound.

The inn turned into a battlefield
Where soldiers are drunk villagers
Armed with chairs and pints,
Fighting randomly their mates.

At the rhythm of the flute,
Beer and blood began to flow.
One by one the men did fall,
Dead or drunk.

Hidden behind the bar,
I descreetly looked at war
That for no reason had broken out
In this ordinary town.

Usualy peaceful and calm,
Yet blooddrunk and full of rage,
The citizens fought all the night
As long as they could stand up straight.

But one more thing obsessed my mind:
A sweet but gloomy woodwind sound
That all the night long had resound
In the inn and all around.

When the men could no longer stand,
As the quiet took back his place,
The musician near the fireplace,
Left the tarvern warm and calm.