WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT

[Hardnight]

The pilot sat at the console of his fighter sulking. The station was shut down tight... no flights allowed. It was a hateful thing for a combat pilot to be asked to endure. He seethed inwardly, rummaged around in the starboard saddlebag slung underneath his command chair and found what he wanted: a 12 year old bottle of rum. Tossing off shot number one of what he knew would be many, many more, he cast about for the other object of his immediate desire: his Sirion Gitfiddle. Soon the combination of frustration at his momentarily clipped wings and the warm, hard, fiery liquor took effect. He leaned back in his plush, black leather command chair, threw his legs across the console, and began to belt out an impromptu tune...

WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT
WE'RE WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT
IN SIRIUS WE'RE FORMED
IN SHIPS OUR REPS ARE SOWN
LIKE BIRDS WITHOUT A HOME
AS PREDATORS WE'VE FLOWN
WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT

THERE'S PIRATES IN THE LANES
THEIR HEARTS TWISTED AS THEIR BRAINS
TRADERS, TAKE A HOLIDAY
OR YOUR GONNA HAVE TO PAY
CUZ HIT THE CRUISE YOU DIE
NOTHING SWEET ABOUT THIS RIDE
SEE, THERE'S PIRATES IN THE LANES

NOW, SKY PEOPLE LOVE THEIR CLANS
AH YEA...
SKY PEOPLE LOVE THEIR CLANS
THO THEY BE BUT MOTLEY BANDS
THAT NOBODY UNDERSTANDS
SKY PEOPLE LOVE THEIR CLANS
YOU CAN ONLY COUNT YOUR FRIENDS
YOUR WEALTH 'N HONOR TO DEFEND
S'WHY YOU GOT TO LOVE YOUR CLAN

WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT
THAT'S RIGHT...
WE'RE WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT
IN SIRIUS WE'RE FORMED
IN SHIPS OUR REPS ARE SOWN
LIKE BIRDS WITHOUT A HOME
AS PREDATORS WE'VE FLOWN
WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT
THAT'S RIGHT...
WE'RE WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT
BLACK WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT
COLD WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT
HARD WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT

After four renditions of the new ditty, and three quarters of a fifth gone... Hardnight slumped in his chair and quietly passed out... dreaming foggy dreams of better days... of warm women and quick cash.

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