How heavy this sword that cleaves to my sore hand,
This weary battle rages on as the Zombie Minions crush;
I hack, thrust and defend the borders of the attacked land,
But still they press on, led in a mad berserker's rush.
Caffeinus fails me and Carbos taunts me from his soft throne,
The Ancient One, when will he break the sky with his hammer;
Sometimes it feels like I stand this bloody war ground alone,
The only song, the sound of the Imbecileots vocal clamor.
Are you friend or are you foe? Until battle we may never know.
Suave tongued sons of Iscariot surround me in the fighting ranks;
Stately wolves in skins of the lost sheep that they have slained,
Their tongues sharp razors and the hands all scarlet stained.
How heavy this sword that cleaves to my sore hand,
But sadly rage on this long drawn weary battle must;
I hack, thrust and defend the borders of the attacked land,
Till the Ancient one arrives and lays them all in the dust.
