Just a mile from the river's mouth
Beyond the brown fields of idle hands
A desolate hamlet rests
Upon the corner of the earth
Dreaming of banner, flute, and gold
Primrose petals drift in a salty breeze
Scattering like leaves without Autumn's grasp
The spoils of war are long forgotten now
While hearth and home wait on straggling souls
No grey sky would dare to touch the ground
No road of clay would dare to touch the sky
Enemies wrap cold and callused fingers
Around throats singing to the same melody