On_the_Eve_of_Our_Doom

The night will turn to the day
but for how long can we say?
If none behold dawning gray
what consequence either way?

they stand in line - peals a battle cry
all for the folly I’ve planned
men who’s wives, sons, and daughters, all
will never behold again
though the odds are hopelessly grim
and sadly we cannot win
we will strive for honor and find
glory for these lowly men

I see milord’s visage - darkened, vast
lost to the task at hand
no concern for what will be lost
obsession with his own ends
He has lost it all - our confidence - the wherewithal
to serve and not puppet man
I draw my makhaira and bring
his bitter reign to an end