Lords - The Sword
The lords of the passes are arming their vassals
You'll find no shelter that way
The conscripts they've taken have never returned
And our hopes fade with each passing day
The gates of the keeps are all closing
And broken men wander the roads
The farmers have fled to the forests
Burning their fields as they go
The dukes of the marches have ordered their archers
To shoot all outlanders on sight
Turn back your horses before it's too late
There'll be no safe crossing this night
Hear the horns, pounding hooves
Visions of cities aflame
Wailing cries, dawn of doom
Die by the sword or in chains
Men kneel in temples of madness
False prophets spread discord and fear
Darkness descends once again
They take the royals of last days to rule here
