loodred sky
Bloodred fields
The sun in its last breath
Providing the shadows of the trees
A moment to dance before death
Still - Their makers dance
In the cold breeze
That gives to me the stench
Of blood not yet cold
And torn dead flesh
I raise my hammer of war
To call my vulture
Up high it flues from the fields
From its kingdom it sees
The most wonderful sights
Dead men - Wounded worms
The remains of a conquered land
My slaughtery and victory
My hammer shall not yet rest
From the north I hear
Hordes of young men
How unaware they are of their peoples
Angel of death
Their blood shall paint my armour
As I slay them all brutally
Down the hill they ride
I greet them with my warcry
As I slam my hammer into the grown
Come to me mortals