In a silent morning haze, under desolate trees of old

loom scattered shelters of some infantry troops. 

Dawn burns east as every morning yet some unknown

tension freezes the air and the warriors grow wary 

in spirit and heart...



Suddenly clouds of dust rise above the pale horizon 

and the watchmen spring to their feet. Sound of horns 

stirs up a warcry and the host lines up for attack!



Horns of war pierce the air

Warriors clad in shining mail 

Swords and leather, fire and steel

Clash of iron, grim whet spears



Into the battlestorm...the heads of the fallen are

shattered under hoofs and chariot wheels, blades cut man

by man and the soil is soaked in blood : thousands of

slaves are working afield, reaping the harvest of death...



Yet as the dark draws nigh

And dusk falls on the menacing peace

White ghosts of war-men long reapen here -

Faces of horror and dread and of throe -

Then roam among the countless bodies

Hewn upon the battlefield



Oh, drive away the carrion 

And bury your peers 

And then mourn as you can

And rejoice as you dare to 

Until the horns of war sound again

This is a warrior's destiny

To solemnly loaf

And await the sound of the horns...