Writ of Pitchfork
Crimfall
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Hard is too of life's decay
With breaths withering we all shall pay
See hoards run thinner by the day
Wealth falls to dust on winding way
Why returns a man
To field where he fell
Barros he fears less than a single farewell
Why kneels a man
On ruins of one throne
When blood of her sons did built it alone
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First to reave, blood cleanse the grief
No dust drown the hate nor guilt shall relieve
Why then are my dreams of war
And war dreams of me
Why returns a man
To field where he fell
Barros he fears less than a single farewell
Why kneels a man
On ruins of one throne
When blood of her sons did built it alone
Banner clad spears in wreath of thousands
Fallen seethe on hooves beneath
Horns blow the length of man's breath
Ride to the gates of death