The Road To Valhalla,Hall Of the Slain

A whisper over the hill
and the Moon shines down.
Her Glory, Her marred Beauty,
lost on the Dead.

The Moon shines down on us,
So few of us left.
The Grass bathes in the Blood of our Brothers,
So many Dead.

The Living live on,
cursed by the Fates,
To survive,
To live for a few more moments longer in Pain,
in Suffering.

But not Long now,
They are here.
They bear fruits of Destruction,
Death
And Salvation?

The Dawn will Come,

But till the Rise,

We hold our Ground,

And Sacrifice.
For the Greater Good.


I Rise up, Valiant, only to Die.
And Now,

Valhalla.