The rumble from that distant cavern,
Black eyes, and streaking night
I fell upon the wolfen sword
Sharp and gleaming bright.
Hear the drumbeats calling war
Hear the harken shield
The clash and growl of steely tools
And the ravens on the field.
The sky run dark and streaked with blood
Of fallen men at arms
The fire blazing high with smoke
A call of macabre alarm
I watch it pass in bleak surrender,
A witness to my fate
To watch as they fall down in blood
And Valkyries elate.
The pound of feet breaking down the beach
Swallowed by the tide
The crumbling walls of pride and valor
Falling before my eyes.
The passion within the eyes of those
That make the gleaming cut
Upon the heads of other men,
Like animals in rut.
They thrash within their armor
They howl within their skin
They rush with muscles taut and learned
They beat you from within.
All along these weathered soldiers
Seek to strike fear in our hearts
They are the symbols of our struggles
When love does pass or start.
Love may be a battlefield,
But upon it we must rattle
With shields and fates and broken swords
That ring out like a gavel.
Perhaps love is a baying hound,
A searcher at the call
But instead of bloody fields,
With grace it traps us all.
So rush out to the battle grounds
And try to hold no fear
There is no triumph in ancient wars
But your glory could be near.
And if you perish upon its fields
Fear not the mourning dawn
You’ll be taken up to higher places
Until the pain is gone.
Pain replaced by intoxication.
Distrust for divine.
Anger for celebration.
Part of the grand design.