My heels click on the stone floor of the battlefield,
As I walk through the corridors of the dungeon.
Soldiers of mine on this meadow, struggled without yield,
To prevent their pride and glory from being killed.There was blood and sweat, and pain and regret,
And many things in between.
But they traveled on, from dusk til dawn,
Ignoring their comrade's screams.Each of them entered here with pride of their own,
And left with hung heads, with modesty abroad.
The warriors trained hard on this field, struggled without yield,
Yet let their pride and glory be voluntarily killed.Weapons were tipped, crops and whips,
And many-a-scars were deemed.
But they traveled onward, until they could no longer
Ignore their own horried screams.Now if you will listen up please, you'll understand,
Time has passed, and a white ghost I am ~an old man~.
They followed and gave their all, and I led and had a fall,
And there's quite a few that I miss.A warlord I'm not, now tears are whats fought,
I can hear the walls scream as I reminisce.
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