Verse I
Pull up a chair and mind your ale,
Let the fire burn low and slow,
There’s a name that cracks like splintered steel
When the night turns thick with smoke.
She came in loud with a broken grin,
Blood on her knuckles, laugh like thunder,
Said: “Pour it strong, I’ve paid my dues—
And I’m still standing, somehow.”
Pre-Chorus
They say she fights like a falling wall,
All weight and rage and no retreat,
You hear her coming in the clash of blades
And the curse she spits through broken teeth.
Chorus
Oh sing it loud for Fiona the Volatile,
Fire in her heart, storm in her hands,
She don’t bend, she don’t break, she don’t beg or smile,
She stands like iron where the weak can’t stand.
Verse II
I saw her once on the Blackstone Road
With three men down and a shield split clean,
She spat out blood, called it “bad luck,”
And asked who thought they’d try again.
Her armor’s more scar than polished steel,
Her prayers are curses she throws at fate,
She don’t fight for kings or pretty lies—
Just the promise that the ground will shake.
Pre-Chorus
She drinks like tomorrow’s a coward’s dream,
Sleeps like the dead till the sun crawls in,
Wakes up ready to start it all again
With a cracked knuckle and a reckless grin.
Chorus
Oh sing it loud for Fiona the Volatile,
Fire in her heart, storm in her hands,
She don’t bend, she don’t break, she don’t beg or smile,
She stands like iron where the weak can’t stand.
Bridge
Some say she’s cursed, some say she’s blessed,
Some say she’s running from ghosts she won’t name,
But I’ve seen fear blink first in a monster’s eyes
When she steps forward, burning, unchained.
There’s mercy buried deep in her chest,
Under all that fury and clangored sound,
She fights so hard ‘cause she knows damn well
What it costs when you go down.
Verse III
So if she sits at your table tonight
And asks for silence, give her none,
Just keep your hands where she can see them
And let her drink till the job feels done.
And if the door bursts open, trouble grins,
And the room holds its breath in dread—
Relax.
Fiona’s here.
And no one’s dead…
Yet.
Final Chorus
Oh sing it loud for Fiona the Volatile,
Oak-blood strong and anvil-born,
She’s the sound of a war that won’t lie down,
The last good reason you survived the storm.
If she swears she’ll fall, she’ll fall on her feet,
If she dies, it’ll be laughing, blade-first, wild—
Raise your glass, mind your distance, say her name right:
Fiona…
Fiona…
Fiona the Volatile
The_Oak_and_Anvil
