The Battle Under

O, what horrid peace is broken
In this ungodly hour
Where men's souls are but mere tokens
O, how the sweet wine of beauty sours

Hear the sordid cries
of men, strong and old
All men dying under those red skies
their terror brought by that evil gold

Where is the champion and his valiant sword
cried the women under those red skies
The champion is long no more
Left to lie and made ready to die

The days are long and the nights the longer
Many lay dead and many soon to be
Men made for the cannons, fodder
yet not a fortress for one to see

The arrogance of single men
is seen past any other thing
and past such is only sin
For no longer will women sing

Of the glory of war and soldiers slayed
No more shall heroes be known
Not one song ever be played
but long shall the pain be sown

Though through pain and death
both mighty and weak fallen
not an evil seed shall be left
within that tree of pain's calling