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