IRIS PONTEM
Flesh clad and bleeding ... pounded into the dust
Warriors of the Fall
Sweat and ash embossed veins bulge with hate
Dispelling the anger seasoned control
Standing last in a line
A line stretching deep into history
Bones chasing the End
The buzz of flies awaiting plunder
Fading into the dusk
War feathers floating upon this twilight
Heavily laden Warriors fighting to move the land
Moving through the enemies ... gliding away into the night
Slipping upon the bloody screams under them
Sliding free now only the few
But there is much left to do
For the Reaper is on it's way
Have you found a place for your proud seed ?
To assure the old line
The First ... The Last ... the few of the Fall
Stand abreast with backs to the wood
Wherein the young do sprout and grow
Girded and standing before mocking eyes
Shoulder to bloody shoulder dripping dry
Drawing to make the nights colder
They envy your strength and power
Your lined face and noble bearing
You will strain once again to the sound
To the music of the battle
Sharing one another's fates
Wheeling as tanks and leaping as the horse
The hills brow grows with the fallen
Up into death's cold wind
In battle harness worn and scarred
Chained to a dying world and age
Racing it's setting sun
Polishing steel and leather
Upon the ancient wheel of bone
Reined only by Love as the skies tumble
Brewing poisoned waters rise
Making the Song of Ragnarok
The Bridge whose end flashes the Dawn
Comes to view across glistening time
Covered with the dew of our Ancestors
Around us now many lie sleeping
Whilst Evil thunders by
Waking the dying cities
Just to hear them cry
Still living and free Warriors
Struggle against endless dead dark soldiers
Just to make them die again
Old hands quickening the rattle
Colours bloom all around
The Bridge it falls without sound
Make hacking haste towards it's end
The living running now nimble in purpose
Leaping as never have they leapt
From one age into another
The Last become the First