My blade sings a song of war,
A low hum in halls of brittle lore.
Where drow-filth weaves its shadowed thread,
And chaos rears its horned head.
The swine-faced demon bellows fright,
A brother's iron nerve takes flight.
The spider-mage upon the height,
A phantom flitting through the night.
My blade now wails a higher key.
A promise of their destiny.
They leap and blink, a coward's art
On spines of books that fall apart.
Blood runs, a fire in my heart.
No wall can hold, no tome can hide
The coming of the crimson tide.
My mask lets loose the shriek inside,
Where sorrow and wrath collide.
War calls! I am their final breath,
My blade no longer sings. It screams for death.
