Lords  -  The  Sword

The  lords  of  the  passes  are  arming  their  vassals

You'll  find  no  shelter  that  way

The  conscripts  they've  taken  have  never  returned

And  our  hopes  fade  with  each  passing  day

The  gates  of  the  keeps  are  all  closing

And  broken  men  wander  the  roads

The  farmers  have  fled  to  the  forests

Burning  their  fields  as  they  go

The  dukes  of  the  marches  have  ordered  their  archers

To  shoot  all  outlanders  on  sight

Turn  back  your  horses  before  it's  too  late

There'll  be  no  safe  crossing  this  night

Hear  the  horns,  pounding  hooves

Visions  of  cities  aflame

Wailing  cries,  dawn  of  doom

Die  by  the  sword  or  in  chains

Men  kneel  in  temples  of  madness

False  prophets  spread  discord  and  fear

Darkness  descends  once  again

They  take  the  royals  of  last  days  to  rule  here