Ah, there is weed on the furniture. That makes the there-is-only-melted-ice-in-my-baggie-now bat happy.

The harpist goes into a riff and makes Rap's day, or evening, or something / sometime. The rest of the trio joins in, and play the lovely ballad with lovers where someone dies. It is a beautiful rensition, and there are a few tears and some mist in many eyes.

From the sad love ballad they then go into a rousing version of that happy war song made so famous by the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, who (well, Tommy Makem) had actually written the sad love song, but in a manner so traditional as to make it seem hundreds of years old. The stomping of the crowd in their enthusiasm at the rousing march loosens the bat's grip on the rafters, but a rather sudden fall is gracefully turned into a fell swoop. There are fewer tears and less mist in the eyes of the grammar pedant...