When you think the battle's ever won
By hundred spear, sword, or gun
In slashing, pillaged mortal right
Come together, for now we fight
Think not upon your mortal dread
Will fail you even when you're dead
The battle will for ever clatter on
Praised in joyous kinds of song
By gruesome men in drunken seige
The fight for the end is your liege
Not your pitiless sacred stone
Or the loved one left back home
But to fall upon the largest stage
The coming of the end of days
Honor and sacrifice is what will tell
The lasting sequence, the final bell
So stop ye now your idle chatter
Sharpen that what really matters
Try to remember what was done
The Sword, the Spear, or Gun.