Campfires light's demise
One old man steps aside
With rusty blade in weary hand

Smells the air and does a chant

Reap, angel, watch us nunt

Leam this night of no hope
And moon shades, before and ever on
Hail them being worth of love


Horns call for war, all men fall
Ever so high

And white they stand
Yet their feet will never touch this land


Hate they'll sow, and hate shall grow
On these fields shall halberds dance
With harbalests and spears

All sweeping death's hand