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Grey horses I must harness,

hunt restlessly through vast and ghastly fields.

Coated and soaked in mud, until the hooves get stuck.

On seedless wastelands where the fallen lie and rot.

Where only burnt spruces honour their death.

I bear them in my heart as I walk on

I bury them in thoughts - who curse the day that I was born.

Winds between ruins tell tales of those who faced hell.

Narrow, in dead straight streamlets

brick-red brooks keep slowly guttering.

The soil will cover all betrayal.

The crows take what belongs to them.

Ravaged fields all seamed with crape.

Weep and woe mixed up with hate.

But wars must be won, I have to ride on.

Unbroken my might, golden my light

brightens my path to the skies.

desperate hands digging in the sand

mourner’s hair hangs down in strangs

all cloaked in black

looks stab my back

hissing their banes

dreadfully insane

spitting their hate in my face

Howling

Doomed shall be Thy name.

Cursed shall be Thy house.