Tossed up into the air, the ashes spread. 
Airborn, just like the form they once held. 
Whisked off, by the wind, 
to never's end is the remains of my last friend. 
He would never lie. 
He could not step down from his fight. 
Humble endeavour. 
Now he will fly forever on. 
Last Rites, departing words delivering comfort 
to the ones left suffering. 
Master of the Rite gives eulogy for the fallen foe of 
our enemy. 
Death is a reward. 
Never fear to die by the sword. 
Live the way he died. 
Glory and Honor walked by his side. 
The Elders say that "We get wont die, we only burn our 
Rage away 
to shade of gray. 
But we always will return to fight another day.". 
Bonfire consumes the flesh, but not the soul. 
That much, at least we're told, is left whole. 
Where is he now, as he rides the hot wind? 
Where the fuck did he go? 
Helios, set him free. 
Valhalla, there you'll be. 
Fist-of-Gaia. 
Bonecrusher. 
Walks-with-death. 
Face-of-pain. 
Fuck peace and the ways of peaceful men! 
It won't bring the tribes together again. 
Then the shade of my departed 
brother came and all Hell started. 
In a cloud of smoke, fiery eyes - of Hell he spoke. 
Showing them the way, he returned to where he came 
from. 
The Elders say that "We get wont die, we only burn our 
Rage away to shade of gray. 
But we always will return to fight another day.".