(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