Saint Joan ( to the tune of my perfect cousin)

 
In the mount
In the valley
Looking for our  best allie
With the arrows in the quiver
Just sat their to shiver 

With dust 
Washed off my boots 
 New mission baring fruit 

With the fire in my soul
Reaching for the holy goal

 born into the peasantry
embraced by the aristocracy 
The sword was put in her hand
To deliver these troubled lands 

Through
Fire
And
Blood
And water 
Driven to the slaughter 

To unite clans 
And for fill God plans
Was France's holy daughter 

Is she mad?
Or divine? 
Who knows 
 it's  her time 
For France's valiant saviour 
Now they question her behaviour 

they burned her at the stake 
What away to be repaid
By the men  in the castle
Those lily livered naives 
All they do is treat us all as their slaves 

With my sword in my hand I remember 
That long ago November 

In the mount 
In the valley 
France found her best allie
Driving the English 
From our land 
While those in the castle do nt deliver
As I sat in the valley all a shiver 

In the mount 
The valley 
Those where the glory day's
When I look back 
Into the mists of time 
It's all a blood haze 

In the mount 
In the valley 
A quiver full of arrows 
We will sing 
The battle cries  
let's see how it goes 
In the hale of arrows 

Now that France is free 
What did the battle mean to me
I ll put our Joan before 
Our King cause she means more to me
Those who know not battle 
Try to tell us what to tackle
But now we are living free their words mean nothing to me