So many men have fallen

So many more must die

Cut down like wheat beneath a scythe

And through our limbs may be weary

Of ripping, slashing, cleaving blows

We face an endless host of foes



How heavy this axe

Burden carried from birth

Wrought in Stygian visions

By the gods of the earth



Upon the hallowed mountain

The gods convene

To mourn the death of our ancient queen

Keepers of sacred fire

Awaken from your sleep

Drink from the cup of memory