So slowly we march to theluckless plain,
Where we will fight and most of us willdie;
This land will be a mass grave for the slain,
Whommost of us will be ere night is nigh.
When battle startswe will not be a group.
We'll fight like we could part thesea of blood
Without a thought of others in our troop;
Soon most will lay bereft of life in mud.
I'll staband swing my sword about the ley
And see the faces of myvictims twist
In agony that comes when one must pay
Theprice for all the glory that they missed.
          Theprice for latent honor - too late known-
         Is deathon violet fields all alone.