Poem
The moon is blue The blood is red The weapons are sharp And the soil is wet The corpses are rotten Stench in the air Weapons lying scattered They were not prepared The foe now are gone The carrion feeds Tracks leading south Tracks from their steeds Fiery horses With flaming eyes Coldblooded lizards Fierce, not wise Steeds of warriors With staffs, hammers and swords In plate and chain Robes and magical wards On every warrior Two I’s engraved In armor or weapon With terror enslaved Invicto was they called Incarnate was their name Followers of chaos War was their game To war they rode Killed without regret With no mercy They slayed every threat So always remember my child At night, lock your door Or they without doubt will come And leave blood and gore
The moon is blue The blood is red The weapons are sharp And the soil is wet The corpses are rotten Stench in the air Weapons lying scattered They were not prepared The foe now are gone The carrion feeds Tracks leading south Tracks from their steeds Fiery horses With flaming eyes Coldblooded lizards Fierce, not wise Steeds of warriors With staffs, hammers and swords In plate and chain Robes and magical wards On every warrior Two I’s engraved In armor or weapon With terror enslaved Invicto was they called Incarnate was their name Followers of chaos War was their game To war they rode Killed without regret With no mercy They slayed every threat So always remember my child At night, lock your door Or they without doubt will come And leave blood and gore