With seven thousand on each side ,
No man or beast would be spared or butchered alive ,
On England's. green yet ****** field ,
Harold's  soldiers. Would not yeald .
Men standing with corpse still shield to shield , no room to fall into
Fields of blood ,
Williams men yet told the cry ' our King is dead ' so fooled the lie ,
the Saxon hordes. Many advanced , the cry
Harold's. Men butchered like dogs,
Picked out one by one the English line broken ,
And Arrows fair filled the sky's to no man to shield defend ,
Harold's men fell like flys ,
And England's crown alas to foreign field ,
Conquered by Nobel steed ,
and cunning plan .
Now this is not a tale of woe for to foreign field England's lands
did toil ,
But a fairy tale of love .
Actin passed its  dark Saxon foe to boldly go to my miosin ,
And feel the pump inside ,
Again and again they meet tearing fibres as they dance
and proteins and sleep keep the Saxons away,
To shred ,
and bulk ,
and feed this land .
Like every day when dawn will call ,
Run with the foxes ,
hear the call ,
Break down those dark Saxon walls ,
Seven thousand armed with ****** axe ,
But you have actin and Miosin spitting blood for you .
Twenty strong reps ,
And curl and curl ,
There's iron in your blood ,
For those Saxon walls each day must break ,
Pick up your sword each dawn shall take .