From the darkness I awaken,
and the world is no different today than it was yesterday.
The Earth boils with the blood of the innocent,
and an acrid thirst for more.
The footsteps I hear are the March of steel and the banging of the drums.
From every direction people scream out for something to be done,
Nobody can see what the other is doing,
Blinded by the fire in their hearts,
It opens the hole in each of their universes.
Every man a sphere unto himself,
fallen through the chasms of the lowest dimensions
of our shared reality.
Every man screaming for someone else to take action,
backing themselves into a corner,
Unable to cross the bridges they’ve burnt by their own hands.
I have commanded such legions many times before,
and care not to tread that path again so soon,
For the steeds that death ride,
take all men in one fell swoop,
And with the sweep of his scythe,
its aim misses none.
Yet we are old elders and crones now,
we who gather and guide those who have
already been sacrificed upon this altar of madness.
Everybody wants war until it arrives on their doorstep,
where wild horses stand shaking the blood from their tails,
As they await the rider who can tame them,
always leaving with an empty saddle,
When nobody thinks of the matters in hand,
and neglect the craft of the mourner,
These men shall think not of he who goes charging into the wilderness and city,
in search of a banner under which to fight,
These men shall think not of he who falls upon his own sword.
They shall only do what was their sworn duty,
May the ghosts of the brash and obstinate seekers of doom,
one day remember the steadfastness and duty-bound who never left them behind.