Let us make our stand on this field of heaps
And let the bodies find graves 'neath our steps.
And raise the banners high, comrades! Onward!
Let us make war upon the Prideful Dead!
So is the heroes calling, and ever
Is it heeded for the masses fortune.
But after four die and three left half-dead,
Our hero sets himself 'side from winners.
He moves onward, westward, and upward now,
Prospecting a home to lay and live/die.
No lost lover to share each sunset with.
Just another mission to sacrifice.
What possesses a soul to take this sword?
The answer is simple, and difficult.
For a man will gladly hang by his hands
So that none others will ever have to.
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