The trees whisper warning

            of enemy's approach

Two hundred warriors

            draw forth their swords

                        For a war

                                    they cannot win.

The hanged man, he smiles

            The dead king grins

The jester is crying

            The charade begins

                        On a field

                                     of greenest grass.

The time for repentance

            has long since past

There's no turning back now

            and Death's coming fast

                        With a claim

                                    on ev'ry soul.

The gods, they are weeping

            the new and the old

For each soldier leaping

            to horrors untold

                        'Neath a sky

                                    so heedless blue.

The sorceress is frowning

            to behold such a view

But unlike the others

            she knows what to do

                        And the flames

                                    on shadows encroach.

She adds to the cauldron

            a dead man's lost torch

The wing of an owl

            from foreign lands poached

                        For a death

                                    both silent and swift.

The warriors stumble

            the ground seems to shift

The air above wavers

            When heads do they lift

                        all is still

                                    and oddly dim.

Removing their helmets

            from countenance grim

They turn to confusion

            for while they had been

                        full of rage

                                    now it is gone.

New sounds fill the air

            the meaning has dawned

The clatter of weapons

            so recently drawn

                        Where they fall

                                     'neath flags of white.