Through a Sea of Living Death

Through a sea of living death,

In the dark, a figure treads,

Weaving through the ghosts of hell,

Coursing o’er the foulest swell.


He must make it to the dawn

For the cause of those who’ve gone,

Those who’ve fallen ‘neath the blade

Of the Reaper’s shadowed face.


Press then on, through ashen heaps,

To the light, where Hope now sleeps;

Keep your mind now firmly on

Boldest tales of battles won.


Falter not upon the way,

Lest you ne’er see light of day;

March then on, and come at last

To the day when death is past.

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