The drums of war are playing on the wind Legions in a golden blaze advancing The air is riddled with ash and fire A twisting spectre against the heavens Like the sullen scowl of blackest woe, a land grievous and besieged Hammered by storms and pestilence, never to rest Hell beyond hell, eradication, burning ferocity Swords erect pounding at the sky a desperate tantrum of futility Never will a leader fight his own battles An amphitheatre of fresh fodder Crimson axes, a cold moon in chaos Cannot escape the martyrs curse All for one greedy kings quest for power Only a conqueror following the common ruinous path The powers are bickering while their people are suffering And there is no wise counsel within these fragile walls An exalted scepter, an internecine damnation Baleful causes tending toward chaos and disarray Knights in horned helms on an impotent crusade Without legacy or deeds for remembrance By the ruthless dictatorship of the sword and spear The axis of demolition is crafted For the blood on a cross on the hill of the skull The religion of warfare, deliverance through demise Wave after wave of armored fury broke upon the ranks Berserker rage without any mercy, mountains smashed to dust Driven by the madness of revenge, battle turns to slaughter Victory dies at the hands of annihilation Countless were the dead that fell by my hand I saw them through my tears those beloved now useless Barbaric devastation, carnage taints the soil Blasted earth and despair, a thousand voices roar in agony Even the gods are silent All the perished weep The eyes of the dragon shall reveal The dark has no end A sole lord throws down his weapons and leaves the battlefield Disgusted by the doom of a poisoned struggle Hailing the few brave enough to wage peace Mortal thrones are like falling leaves in a gale
amphitheatre, bickering, internecine, leaf, tantrum