To not admit repugnance, to not admit fear,

To enter grounds foreign to all,

To yearn to just veer;

To face the guns and war,

The non-merciful existence of men draws closer,

As the battleground that was once afar

Seems to have faded our apter.

Run ahead! Run ahead!

For the vision of causality has awoken our instincts,

As General said! As General said!

To strive our six hundred men, as spoken succinctly;

Do not be blinded,

Do not be divided,

For as one man might fault,

We cannot all halt.

Weather he be brother or father,

The Devil's Lowland doesn't cease,

And as you may be bitter,

This ground is void of peace.

As the men dwindle from six-hundred,

And more blood is on your hands,

We must gather along

In this Devil's Lowland.

In God's name, I beg for forgiveness,

For these sins we have committed,

Have only the Devil as our witness.

The shots fired soon begin to fade,

And our minds have become frayed,

Our men are much lesser than six hundred.

Our refuge is little to none,

Not in any lands, not in our brains,

Not from the Holy,

For the Holy would regard us as evil-made.

And as we attempt to become numb,

We cannot even take our dignity;

For God's judgement leaves only odium.