The Armies marched with banging drums
That made ill the streams, made black the dreams.
The Armies marched with cracking horns,
Each soldier robed in robes of green.
With green swords they cut her down,
Greyed her hairs and dimmed her smiles.
Their drums rung around her ears,
Their trophies hung within her tears.
But, in the night Turning Tide
Brought Light, who shone to crack the ice
That Time had made cold and hard
Around each green soldiers heathen heart.
Whispers. Whispers in my ears and in the hills.
'The ice will crack; the blood will flow',
The ice did crack, the blood ran cold
And drowned each green soldiers heathen soul.
We stood just to watch them die,
Let them bleed until their hearts bled dry.
Alas! things could never be the same
With her smiles so dim and her hairs so grey.
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