Sound the Horn
Ride! Ride! Ride for our doom, our foes dismay, ride today,
Men of War, your weapons to hand, ride you mighty host,
Into the maw we thunder, shield at back, sword in hand,
With mighty roar, the valley walls echo our cries away.
On! On! On we gallop, through the trees, down the mountains,
Our horses powerful ‘neath us, the wind in their manes,
With lance and axe, sword and bow, our burdens they bear,
Eyes wide open, ears pricked up, with us to war they go again.
Flea! Flea! Flea you men of the soil, for war takes no heed,
Farmer, Soldier, Knight, or Child, the battle is hungry for bodies,
Blood will flow, and guts will spill, the Gods of War and battle laugh,
The Gods will slake their thirst, ‘tis our blood and yours they need.
Woe! Woe! Woe to our enemies, for death and despair we bring,
With mighty crash and fearsome noise, into their midst we charge,
An assembly of soldiers, fear in their eyes, no match for our onslaught,
Shield broken, spear and sword thrown down, of glorious death we sing.
Death! Death! Death in our wake, Hells gates are open, Hood awaits,
Our enemies struck down, brave riders of our host are all the same,
More souls his fires to feed, a thrust, a smash, another one dies,
My sword arm wearies, but another goes to his destiny, death his fate.
Awake! Awake! Awake my brothers, the battle is fought, the victory won,
With man and beast butchered, bodies strewn far and wide,
The Glory is red and bloody, the toll paid is high, friend and brother,
Lying in their mounds, all pale and dead, but tomorrow still rises the sun.