Crimson red drops stain his armor
Like a flood the enemy washes over their defenses
The night sky is clear and the moonlight illuminates their blades and spears
The night is quiet but their shouts make melody with their boots as they make their approach
Alone he stands, kinsmen slain but he still holds as the flood approaches
‘Do my ancestors watch over me’, he wonders
Tightly gripping his sword he raises a shout of a thousand
Like a pebble on beach he will be washed aside
‘But it will be glorious’, he says as he runs none by his side
In his death, Hades accepts his offering of thousands
In his death, valor commands the rest and fate was pleased

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