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As the crow flies |
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As the wolves howl |
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The rivers will run red |
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When storm clouds of war blacken the sky |
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Where the plague touches, like a parasite |
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War is sure to come |
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Turning brother against brother |
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Father against son, blood against blood |
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Spilling the lifeblood of a tribe |
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The fatherland weeps raped and soiled |
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Stained with the blood of its sons |
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Armies once allies move in for the kill |
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There is no mercy for the weak |
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There is no honour among thieves |
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Pillars of smoke curl across the plundered land |
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The stench of the dead rises high |
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The conquerors bring nothing but death |
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Feeding upon itself, like maggots in a wound |
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A once vibrant tribe lies in the thrall of death |
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The lifeless body of the land lies in peace at last |
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Hopes and dreams lying cold and dead |
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Alongside the bodies of the sons |
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Clasped beneath winter cold breast |
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Buried below its virgin white snow |
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Remembered not even in memory or legend |