"Before saints had churches, and devils had horns,
there were only hills, stones, and storm-borne songs.
Mynydd Machen knew them all — and still hums their names."

Old Dai the Piper blew storms from his horn,
His pibgorn a thunder of sheep and of corn.
Megan of Mists stitched rain to her shawl,
And whispered of summers before they would fall.
Big Griff Tân stomped songs in the shale,
Drunk on the laughter that brewed in the vale.

Raise your hands to the folding sky,
Sing to the rocks where the merry men lie.
Each stone a drum, each breeze a hymn,
We’re the echo of them, the echo of them.

Little Iolo, feather-bright, quick as a lark,
Found spells in the hedges, made magic from bark.
Nanwen the Spoon, with broth thick as tales,
Mended hearts better than preachers or ales.
And Emrys, old Emrys, with stories so wild,
He could charm the frost off a mountain child.

The Stranger came climbing with apron strings wide,
Filled with stones, seeds, and a wink in his stride.
“Where devils dance, saints make their stand —
Not with swords, but with songs in their hands!”
So they gathered, the laughing, the battered, the brave,
And built from their breath what the storms could not cave.

"If you can’t outpace the devil’s might...
You out-sing him through the longest night."

Raise your hands to the folding sky,
Sing to the rocks where the merry men lie.
Each stone a drum, each breeze a hymn,
We’re the echo of them, the echo of them.

"On Mynydd Machen, the cairn still stands —
Twyn y Certhi, the mound of songs.
If you lay your ear to the stones at dusk,
You'll hear them still — singing us home."

Now when rain kisses Machen, and mist crowns the trees,
We dance with old Griff in the break of the breeze.
Nanwen hums lullabies over the moor,
And Iolo’s feathers tap at your door.
We are the choir of the hill and the glen,
The songs of the mountain, the mountain's merry men.

Raise your hands to the folding sky,
Sing to the rocks where the merry men lie.
Not in sorrow, not in stone —
But in laughter, in song, in finding our home.

"Sing loud enough, bach... and the Devil runs for cover."

Merry Men on Mynydd Machen

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