(Dedicated to the men of honour,

who bravely fought the servants of christ)



Facing down into

The blood-soaked soil

The prong pierces my neck

As it's only a swords length away

From the years to come

My words are dripping red

I drink my pride

As I shall close my eyes

No more

The prong twists in the gap of flesh

Facing down into

The blood-soaked soil

I swear to all of which I possess

And I swear to all of which I am

To abhor the fear

I deny

And the years to come

Are only a swords length away

I deny