In a faraway land
That's the way that stories go
But this one, you see,
Is different than that
Listen, and then you'll know
In this land called faraway
A band of robbers cruel
Kept hamlets and towns
Under their pernicious rule
All knew these men of old
Their faces, smiles, names
Yet there was no chance of help
To escape from their reign
One day, while on a raid
Of houses in the wood
They came upon a small brown boy
Whose face, though sad, was good
His parents had been slain that day
By this very robber lord
Who even now saw him
And, being self-assured
Brought him from his hiding-place
And teased with many leers
The boy knew whom he spoke to
But his face was without fear
The robber gang did find him fine
And laughed with evil glee
And said, "Oh, here's a servant,
To sweep and make our tea!"
(They all drank no such thing, of course
They only spoke this way
Being sure of their own humor
Having garnered much that day)
And so the boy went home with them
And served them for a year
And after that he still was full
Of merriment and good cheer
They none of them knew this lad
For an orphan they had made
But in the mind of this small boy
There was no debt unpaid
No revenge was in his heart
No vengeance did he seek
His heart was kind; his will was strong
His mouth was quick to speak
He became the favorite
Of the robber lord so feared
He was left to speak his mind
And so passed many years
This boy had changed the robber band
No longer did they rule
With such an iron fist
Their hearts no longer cruel
The boy called the lord thief Father
And all the men were Brother
The cookpot and the hunting bow
Were all he had for Mother
The next year died the robber chief
The gang was left to mourn
The boy no one ever found
As though he was never born
But 'tis said on the eve of Midwinter's Night
When the wind howls all around
You can hear him crying, crying, crying
His soul cries from the ground
When the moon is full
And the geese take flight
And the wolves cry to the moon their song
You can hear him crying, crying, crying,
Singing with the wolves their song
He runs with the pack
And he flies with the geese
And he floats with the moon on high
He looks down and he cries, he cries, he cries
Singing with the wolves their song
