March of The DeadThe sun, the light, the green lush field, The trees, the grass and deep blue sky, And in the distance, the corn with its bright gold yield, And above the hawk who fly, High and far, long and wide, The thin wispy clouds, The long rolling hills, This is a sanctuary for he who wills,March of The Dead
But no, this is gone, Burnt to the ground, Destroyed and decrepit, Lost, even to those who found, This wonderful place, is long below, The city of the damned, With its eerie green glow, But hark! The clattering of metal, The sound of steel, Resound from this
Hello
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"Stand and deliver or the devil he may take you"
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