They march down the pathways
Spoiled with the residue of death
As the haze of loss illuminates the sky
The pain grows as if the sun still shines
On bright green grass
Oh the smell of summer in their dreams

The sound of boots marching on
As the dirt rises in the air
The sound of their steps
Hallow while their souls are bare
The horror flashes in the storm
On the silhouette of clouds

March, March, Marching on
They walk the barren land
The empire no longer capable to stand
As its foundation falters