The herald

To arms, to arms cried the herald as he ran across the town
Together my kin, we shall begin to bring that dark throne down

Behold the wicked have gather their horde, they march on you and me
So gather for them from far and from wide, of the brave and of the free

Gather thy strength from the young and the old, despite the dark winter, despite the long cold, for the day has been set, Tis the day for the bold

Take up arms my brethren kin and don armour out of brass
The man and the woman shall thus be counted, and count the lad and lass
Fear not the night or the devil's sight, for judgment now shall pass
With right as your might, advance as one mass
the wicked shall falter and shall break as does glass

If blood must be shed, for us all to be free
then take of my blood, Tis yours like a flood, and take then all from me

For when heaven decides between good and the bad, some cheer and rejoice and some weep and are sad

They said, long lost tales of legend and stories that grew old
We said, Tis was written and thus it must be told