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Track 11: The Healer and the Fool
Genre: Chamber Folk
Duration: 03:23.0 Lore Source: "To Mend Old Wounds" (Journal) In-Game Author: Salim and Helen Wiki Link: Click Here to Read Lore A tender Chamber Folk vignette about Salim and Helen. It uses "Cold Piano" and "Warm Acoustic Guitar" to contrast the harshness of Rookmore with the warmth of their tragic romance. |
~*~ Song Lyrics ~*~
Arrival to Rookmore. Status is Critical.
The mountains were hard, the journey political.
I hoped for a hospital, white sheets and beds.
I found only mud, and the silence of deads.
I take matters into my hands, as I did at the front.
No time to tattle. No time to be blunt.
Then the caravan came from the Kindlewaste heat.
A battle for life. Drag the dead from the street.
One man survives with a wound in his leg.
He smiles when he should only beg.
You work so hard, with your hands in the cold.
But your eyes tell a story that hasn't been told.
The northern winds guide the lost to the sky...
But you kept me here. You wouldn't let me die.
You talk of the sand.
You talk of the ruin.
You talk while the tea and the herbs are brewin'.
Because you are the Daffodil. Gold in the gray.
The first sign of spring on a desolate day.
You are a fool, Salim. A sweet, dying fool.
My dearest Helên...
The Shroud is sweeping.
The time for building is past.
The time for weeping... is fast.
Sit by my side.
Let us gaze at the leaves.
Before the valley... grieves.
Rest your head on my shoulder.
The air is getting colder.
Yours forever,
My Daffodil…
My Daffodil…
The mountains were hard, the journey political.
I hoped for a hospital, white sheets and beds.
I found only mud, and the silence of deads.
I take matters into my hands, as I did at the front.
No time to tattle. No time to be blunt.
Then the caravan came from the Kindlewaste heat.
A battle for life. Drag the dead from the street.
One man survives with a wound in his leg.
He smiles when he should only beg.
You work so hard, with your hands in the cold.
But your eyes tell a story that hasn't been told.
The northern winds guide the lost to the sky...
But you kept me here. You wouldn't let me die.
You talk of the sand.
You talk of the ruin.
You talk while the tea and the herbs are brewin'.
Because you are the Daffodil. Gold in the gray.
The first sign of spring on a desolate day.
You are a fool, Salim. A sweet, dying fool.
My dearest Helên...
The Shroud is sweeping.
The time for building is past.
The time for weeping... is fast.
Sit by my side.
Let us gaze at the leaves.
Before the valley... grieves.
Rest your head on my shoulder.
The air is getting colder.
Yours forever,
My Daffodil…
My Daffodil…