she

She watches colossi in tow
With wolves at her side she rides
For those born of fires and blood the end is near make haste and abandon your empires
For she rides and the crimson tide shall not be forgiving

Blood will meet blood gun and sword shall rise in battle once again
When the pen breaks
The poppies on Flanders shall bloom once more
The flame shall fall from heaven and be held by hell

New warriors will rise clever as foxes they are
Dashing through hill and crater they fight
But these foxes will lose the most blood

Down on these places of battle snow fall and ice form
Striking down everyone from the mightiest of bears to the boldest of eagles
Shields of cloth are donned and the tide continues without abate

On the holiest of holy days the gift of filth shall be given
And on the eve of the orient the fungal flame grows
Chaos and trickery join hand in hand as the fungus consumes her and her horse in the fierce dragon
Finally the tide has been put to rest in the frozen jungle where the pale ones walk