From scars that torn the field,
A battle wage and done and yield.
Left by the dead, mounted by snow,
Buried like coffins it gradually grow.
Its beaten breath, lifted from their shell,
Its broken heart, pierced into hell.
Their lifeless dream in rowing rank
That give their souls like common bank.
And there that stain, left for scrap,
Blood trickle down in a trail to map.
The dead, so close, carried away
Into a place from such morbid gray.
As heroes and soldiers set to straight,
No song, no cheers, just a silent fate.
The lost, the damned, forever walk
By falsely deed, their leaders talk.
For death, a legend, left from this world,
His valiant steed, join without a word.