Born on a cold winter morning,
From birth, war and battle i was learning,
My sole gift to the world? Endless mourning.
Ousted from my cradle before i could walk,
Hefting weapons before i learnt to talk.
Sentenced from birth to endless marching,
Shattered weapons adorn the path that I'm walking,
This carpet of broken dreams so straight, never branching.
Heedless i walk serenaded by dying mens cries,
Steadily move on to where the next battle lies.
Slashing and parrying, shot through and run down,
Caught in the hated, familiar whirlwind of agony and sound,
And once again i bleed my life into the ground.
Deaths I've died a the whims of Aries, Mars and more,
Forever my lieges these ruthless and brutal Gods of war.
Fighting for hidden powers, abstract, whose reasons i don't know,
Farmer of despair, death is all i sow,
Yet another bloodied thread, in this vast tapestry of woe.
In the arms of my old friend death i seek solace from this strife,
Yet each time he forsakes me, to yet another life.
The soul is the same, though names and faces change,
As each time i stride on to battlefields, old or new and strange,
And each time my life is spent, carelessly, like loose change.
And so it shall be, till end of time, nothing will stop this torment,
So as i fight and die once more, I sing for thee,
This never-ending, never-dying, forsaken soldiers lament ...
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