In The Grip Of The Dark Lord

As the cold winds blow
In the dark of the night
In the soulless mountain range
Where there is no light
In the willows, the valleys, the glens
The men were marching on
Resolved to fight with honor
They know their end has come

Atop a great white beast
The general he looks on
What he sees will never leave him
The broken, the barren, the poor

Do I lead these men to death?
That they don’t deserve?
He turns his head
Sounds the horn
Silent, they march as one

They pray to gods and kings
That they may survive
What they do not know
No man remains alive

In the grip of the Dark Lord’s hand
There they make their stand

And so on this day, the battle they did wage
Many fought and many died
For the realm to be saved