Winning At Dice

I sit on this chair

The smell of ale in the air

A creaky brownish patched up thing

Rubbing my hands in glee,

In the room the echoes ring,

as the sound of dice in a cup soothe me.

A copper or two

Heck, maybe even a gold crown for you,

if I win at dice

My bittersweet vice

I take my eyes off the gamble

As that lass stepped into the rabble

Never noticing the weighted dice played

or the foolish bet I'd made

Or even the knives these men hold in their coats

Awaiting the winner's warm throat

Hah! I never said it was easy to win at dice

While getting out of this place alive