The Warrior's Lement ~ Bryntyeach MacQuarrie

Warrior's Lament

I looked upon the empty field and flickering lights below.
Ten thousand silhouettes or more 'gainst a backlit fire glow.
I knew that with the rays of dawn the tranquil peace would fly.
And in the morninglight would sound a desperate battlecry.

We numbered just two hundred score - odds slim to say the least.
But each of us down to the man already made his peace.
We armoured up with grim resolve, all knowing we may die.
We never shied away from fate, our prayers filled the skies.

With backs all turned towards our camp, we formed a mighty ring.
Atop the hill we made our stand, our voices raised to sing.
While stone and cliff stood at our flank, we gazed upon our foe
And waited there for them to come - the blood was soon to flow.

As one they breached upon our ranks, as waves upon the shore.
And as we stood against their push, we showed what was in store.
For this would prove no easy task, our shieldwall stood as one.
In shadowed recess of the cliff, the Valkyries had come.

Thus in a tangled mass of limbs and weapons stained with red
Comingled cries of rage and pain, and silence of the dead
We fought from dawn 'til nearly dusk, before they called retreat
To draw back from the war we waged to rest and for to feast.

We had lost nearly two thousand men, all strewn upon the ground.
And as I gazed upon them there who lay without a sound
Our weary warriors bent their backs all to the tasks of war
I looked upon the fires below and whisper now, "No more..."

I swiftly formulate a plan to end it once for all
We set the fires, prop up the dead as shadows on the wall
And in the cover of the night we quietly descend
Upon the unsuspecting camp, to make our final stand

In dark and silence we await as laughter starts to fade
And weary soldiers go to bed, on pillows heads are laid
And in the stillness of the camp we sound our victory horn
Descending as ten thousand fiends, as though from hell were born

And as the sunlight starts to dawn, cast light upon the camp
The crimson battleground alights, the soil turned red and damp
And in the carnage of the war, scant few of us remain
Me and three hundred of my kin, our vict'ry won in vain.