Sons of War

Warriors young and old.

Banging drums and blowing horns.

Grabbing their best weapons and gear.

Preparing to march to war that's drawing near.

Each one fighting for their own cause.

Fame, fortune, country or gods.

The only one who truly knows is the warrior that marches along.

Here stand the brave and the bold as they begin their march.

The young seek fame and glory.

But the old only know suffering and pain.

We are blood, we are death.

We are the sons of war.

To live and die by the sword is just another way of life for us.

Raising our weapons up high and letting out our battle cries.

With blood on our hands of those we’ve slain.

We stand our ground to face the charges of our enemies.

The clashing of steel echoing throughout the battlefield.

hmmmhmmmhm

We are the sons of war.

None of this is fun and game for the bet is your life and death play for keeps.

This no place for weak and faint hearted, for they perish as the fighting has started.

Death follows where ever we may travel on this bloody road.

Never will we faultier until our dying breath.

For what you see before you are devils instead of men in all but name.

Covered in blood of the dead and having the icy glares of wolves

hmmmhmmmhm

We are the sons of war.

We drink to victory and the glorious dead.

Spending the riches of those we come across.

Singing songs of the good old days.

Wasting our riches on drinks and games.

Showing off their trophies and scars as if they were in show and tell.

Celebrating life throughout the long night.

Our bonds of brotherhood strengthens our resolve.

hmmmhmmmhm

We are the sons of war.

Marching and fighting is all we really know.

To find another way of life, is like a waking dream.

You can never remember what it was even after your finally awake.

Never knowing what obstacles and struggles lie ahead.

Nothing the same after each passing hellish day.

The world is all up in flames as we keep marching on.

From battlefield to battlefield.

The fighting is all the same no matter how much time has passed.

Not all of us are coming back, but we already knew the risks.

This is the price of living by the blade.

It’s better to die with a weapon in your hands.

With your enemies slain before you breath the last breath you take.

[For we go down fighting as all warriors should, dying by the blade instead of old age.

Victory or defeat will decide our fates.

We either come back as heroes or in caskets to the graves.

We continue on our march until this war finally ends.

To see if we’ll make to the end of this bloody road.

hmmmhmmmhm

We are the sons of war.