In the seventh of seasons surrounding a hill
We met Bob, and Baker, Stevens and Bill
And vowed to go marching with none left before
To the cry of the fool, to fighting, to war.
To War.
To War.
We came to the battle and entered the fray,
And those who had died had not time to pray
And those who had not had not sheathed the sword
But set to about them defending their Lord.
Their Lord.
Their Lord.
Their Lord in his castle set high on his hill
Sat stern and exalted as men worked his will,
Were slashed and were slaughtered and covered with gore
As we came and we killed them in passion, in war.
In War.
In War.