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East shore of the Niben, the sleep of the livin\',
the Bravil Barrowfields;
Slat twix old Nomore and the Fort Black Boot
the Bravil Borrowfields!

The lap of the bay by the bastions,
Theres no guard on the ware up there;
Surely no man will prattle away
in the Bravil Borrowfields.

The quick spend their day in walls of decay
in the Bravil Burrowfields;
Given a debt writ to Nibennay sept,
the Bravil Burrowfields!

The ghosts are alive in Camp Bainwatch,
their bodies smashed gainst Panther.
surely no man will want a stay
in the Bravil Burrowfields.

Soul stricken, you tire by Aren\'s tall spire
in the Bravil Burrowfields,
Aye, theres a view in the mid-morning dew
of the Bravil Burrowfields!

Like a wine slowly aging,
if you have stomache to bare:
Surely no man could resist a swig
of the Bravil Burrowfields.