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A Marching Song
Let fly the arrows of our wrath, 'gainst all the foes of Cymrija.Show Joshrum's minions only death, despised foes of the land. Let ravens pick their bodies clean, through our tilled fields and forests green, 'Till not one red shield can be seen, within the bounds of Cymrija. Come sound the the horn, the brazen call, now raise the swords of Cymrija, Their soldiers burned and set to flight, all butchered out of hand. Dwarf, Human, Elf, and Kender too, come run an empire soldier through, With woden face and souls so true, defend the shores of Cymrija. Sow the fields with seeds of blood, enrich the lands of Cymrija, Like hammer blows dealt by the gods, destroyed by our own hand. Scatter men like scythed down wheat, the legions lay dead at our feet, Kill their men, watch them retreat, from our beloved Cymrija. Don your armour, take your shield, uphold the faith of Cymrija, Ancestors guide us, guard us all, from mountain top to sand. Spear points gleam, axe in our hand, the void awaits the Empire's man, Like a wall of stone we'll stand, The children of great Cymrija. Now hear the war drum and take heart, they'll never take our Cymrija, Bruised and battered we may be, but we will make a stand. Y Ddraig, our land will see us through, our steel will be the death of you, Heads held high, and banners to, we'll save the land of Cymrija. Source: S. Erridge
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