The sun looks down upon the wasted lands,
Where drums beat with the chief's commands.
The horn has been sounded and feet march on cue,
The crashing of metal with itself is not new.
The wind blows strongly, combating the discord,
Yet the cries are too loud to be simply ignored.
They all seem to scurry, but it is all in vain,
The ground shall be drenched in blood's rain.
Horror grips and chaos ensues,
The sky now bears crimson hues.
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