Battle looms on a horizon lined so pale,
The wisp of mist clings to the gnarled and knotted trees,
As they watch over mountains grey.
And marsh man worn by host so strong,
With spear of twice a man, and Shield of crimson tone,
A confident band of many strong,
Defeat that seemed so far away...
Our swords possessed with flame,
With dying breath, we will bring death,
The outcome is still the same.
Were yet to hit the ground,
A furious push on a sea of red was seen from afar,
Help of a warcry, to fight to bitter end,
Emerged the wheels of fire and death,
That cut so many down.
An uphill battle was fought,
To push these dogs back to their kennels,
From a far-off distant home,
Into night the fighting raged until the battle was won,
Exhausted soldiers marching forth
Against the distant sun.
The lands turned grey,
And wept for the souls beyond the grave.
In the waining light,
The hordes of dead will be seen in veil.