Campfires lights demise One old man steps aside With rusty blade in weary hand Smells the air and does a chant Reap, angel, watch us haunt Lean 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 fee will never touch this land Hate theyll sow, and hate shall grow On these fields shall halberds dance With arbalests and spears All sweeping deaths hand
arbalest, halberd, campfire, fee, sweeping