Reach to the Battlefield

Reach to the Battlefield

Blood doth stay stained
on the hands of wry fools
And broken upon the cliffs
doth lie the fallen tools

Generations wouldst speak
of genocides foul, and loss
And the dead to tell tales
reaching centuries across

Blinded on the battlefield
hate and lust doth stand
Untold horrors and black fates
drenching time's bloodied sand

We minstrels scream and yell
our tales of blackest gore
Whilst the carnage rages e'er
from field, and soon to shore

Talk of foulest deeds
do pages whitened by sun
Of men who cut down all
of innocence made undone

So harken little hearer
heed well our darkest woes
Thy bloodlust bears a price
one that only misery knows