Years have passed away - still his soul's condemned
Haunted by remembrance ever till the end
Blood on his hands
He can't wash away

Marching through the fields of death
Blood is dripping down onto the ground
Kill to live and live to kill
Slaves of war - slaves of theirselves

Scenes of battle, caught in torture,
Death and terror ruled the land
Orders led their way - no return
Most of them they went there last,
But how to die when life has just begun?
Play fate's game to live,
Or stay on Fields of Aeveron

He looks right into his eyes, looks beyond his self-disguise
Closes his eyes but he can't hide the tears
Blood on his hands
He can't wash away

Marching through the fields of death
Blood is dripping down onto the ground
Kill to live and live to kill
Slaves of war - slaves of theirselves

And the sand rans way too fast,
Way too fast out of my hands
Tell me! Is it worth winning a
Fight and therefore losing life?