Deadmarch

Kneeling on this broken soil,
Feeling blood begin to boil,
All their screams surround my bed,
From this sacred field of red,

Standing on the edge of time,
Staring at what once was mine,
All their faces crowd my head,
Across this ancient field of red,

Passing through this land of pain,
Drenched by cold and heavy rain,
All their hearts have long been bled,
Here upon this field of red.

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