Song: Charity.
Charity had scarce turned seven when the war began,
Brightening her parents' lives as only children can,
And the world her story starts on is a world we don't need name.
There's a thousand girls like Charity, and their tales all end the same.
Because a war's no place for charity. That's just the nature of the game.
The township's teacher was a greenhorn fresh come from the Core,
They say she ran away from home and stumbled straight into a war.
And they sent their children to her, keeping one eye on the sky,
And they prayed to every god there was this would pass them by.
They told their children they were safe -- they didn't mean to lie.
Charity and piety don't live here any more.
Prudence, pride, and pity didn't make it through the war.
They didn't volunteer, but you came knocking at their door...
Now don't you beg for charity. She don't live here anymore.
Now they told her, 'Teacher, our respect's a thing you'll have earn,'
And she said, 'Sirs, I'm a student still, and I'm always glad to learn.'
They had just a one-room schoolhouse, but they led her there with pride,
And she said, 'I think it suits me,' and she followed them inside.
She said she'd keep their children safe. She didn't know she lied.
Well, there's those who'll say that rebel roots ran deep into the town,
And there's those who'll said they had the right to cut rebellion down.
It's best if you can fell the foe before he stands to fight,
And it's better if you stamp the sparks before they can ignite.
The winners write the history. That's why they're always right.
If that day had come at harvest, when the fields took every hand,
Or if it had come in springtime, when new life comes to the land --
Even at the height of summer, when the sky calls 'come and play...'
But it was the dead of winter, and the school was full that day.
Came the very heart of winter. Not a soul had stayed away.
Well, there was no word of warning as the sky filled up with fire,
And the sun turned black with ashes as the flames reached ever higher.
The command they had was simple -- drive those rebels to the ground,
And the steeple on the schoolhouse was the tallest point in town.
So those bastards armed their clever guns and burned the schoolhouse down.
Charity and piety don't live here any more.
Prudence, pride, and pity didn't make it through the war.
They didn't volunteer, but you came knocking at their door...
Now don't you beg for charity. She don't live here anymore.
Now there's not a soul who'll tell you what went on inside those walls,
And the only one who walked away will say she can't recall,
As the the timbers burned and tumbled and the stones began to crack,
It seemed so sure that nothing would survive that great attack.
You can always fire a bullet; you can't ever take it back.
Charity had scarce turned seven; she didn't live to eight.
Her family learned the truth that wartime teaches all too late,
For when bitter men are on the move, you can't just stand aside,
And the tide of war is something that can't ever be denied.
Go ahead and weep for Charity, for hope, for peace, for pride.
The township's teacher was a greenhorn fresh come from the Core.
The school burned down around her, no one sees her anymore.
They say she somehow made it through, they say she walked away,
But where she went from there, there's not a single man can say.
Only that her eyes were empty. That she swore she'd make them pay.
So that's the tale of Charity, and how the fight was lost
By a tiny town that never volunteered to pay war's cost,
And that's the tale of some poor teacher broken by the fight,
And they say that she's still out there, somewhere, looking for the light.
Let the winners write the history. Maybe she can teach it right.
Charity and piety don't live here any more.
Prudence, pride, and pity didn't make it through the war.
They didn't volunteer, but you came knocking at their door...
Now don't you beg for charity. She don't live here anymore.
Prudence, pride, and pity didn't make it through the war.
Don't you beg for faith or charity. They don't live here anymore.
Brightening her parents' lives as only children can,
And the world her story starts on is a world we don't need name.
There's a thousand girls like Charity, and their tales all end the same.
Because a war's no place for charity. That's just the nature of the game.
The township's teacher was a greenhorn fresh come from the Core,
They say she ran away from home and stumbled straight into a war.
And they sent their children to her, keeping one eye on the sky,
And they prayed to every god there was this would pass them by.
They told their children they were safe -- they didn't mean to lie.
Charity and piety don't live here any more.
Prudence, pride, and pity didn't make it through the war.
They didn't volunteer, but you came knocking at their door...
Now don't you beg for charity. She don't live here anymore.
Now they told her, 'Teacher, our respect's a thing you'll have earn,'
And she said, 'Sirs, I'm a student still, and I'm always glad to learn.'
They had just a one-room schoolhouse, but they led her there with pride,
And she said, 'I think it suits me,' and she followed them inside.
She said she'd keep their children safe. She didn't know she lied.
Well, there's those who'll say that rebel roots ran deep into the town,
And there's those who'll said they had the right to cut rebellion down.
It's best if you can fell the foe before he stands to fight,
And it's better if you stamp the sparks before they can ignite.
The winners write the history. That's why they're always right.
If that day had come at harvest, when the fields took every hand,
Or if it had come in springtime, when new life comes to the land --
Even at the height of summer, when the sky calls 'come and play...'
But it was the dead of winter, and the school was full that day.
Came the very heart of winter. Not a soul had stayed away.
Well, there was no word of warning as the sky filled up with fire,
And the sun turned black with ashes as the flames reached ever higher.
The command they had was simple -- drive those rebels to the ground,
And the steeple on the schoolhouse was the tallest point in town.
So those bastards armed their clever guns and burned the schoolhouse down.
Charity and piety don't live here any more.
Prudence, pride, and pity didn't make it through the war.
They didn't volunteer, but you came knocking at their door...
Now don't you beg for charity. She don't live here anymore.
Now there's not a soul who'll tell you what went on inside those walls,
And the only one who walked away will say she can't recall,
As the the timbers burned and tumbled and the stones began to crack,
It seemed so sure that nothing would survive that great attack.
You can always fire a bullet; you can't ever take it back.
Charity had scarce turned seven; she didn't live to eight.
Her family learned the truth that wartime teaches all too late,
For when bitter men are on the move, you can't just stand aside,
And the tide of war is something that can't ever be denied.
Go ahead and weep for Charity, for hope, for peace, for pride.
The township's teacher was a greenhorn fresh come from the Core.
The school burned down around her, no one sees her anymore.
They say she somehow made it through, they say she walked away,
But where she went from there, there's not a single man can say.
Only that her eyes were empty. That she swore she'd make them pay.
So that's the tale of Charity, and how the fight was lost
By a tiny town that never volunteered to pay war's cost,
And that's the tale of some poor teacher broken by the fight,
And they say that she's still out there, somewhere, looking for the light.
Let the winners write the history. Maybe she can teach it right.
Charity and piety don't live here any more.
Prudence, pride, and pity didn't make it through the war.
They didn't volunteer, but you came knocking at their door...
Now don't you beg for charity. She don't live here anymore.
Prudence, pride, and pity didn't make it through the war.
Don't you beg for faith or charity. They don't live here anymore.