The night was charged with vigor.
The stars look as though on liquor.
Blurry, and unstable in gaze.
Looking as death in the face.
clang! The sword sweeps you back.
We’ve been running for days.
Through stone tiled paths and ash like hays.
Hearts pounding , pebbles high flying.
Rushing for that thing, that never pays.
Forgetting that the light is fast dying.
And that your urns’ are home crying.
Take up that sword soilder!
Take down that fear comrade!
Take high that shield soilder!
Raise up that still, silver, steel blade.
Forget ’em worries as ye gallop through.
Nothing much worth finding,
But the First Of All