Blood Dried...

In the age of iron...the age of bronze... As man expanded outward... Distance cries from afar of lands... Leader's born of the sword... Taken or driven to survive... Iron clad rider...suit's rusty inside... Heavy laden horse's...packed from war... Each owned by one's who have won... The right to come home... Little is left to see...blood dried... Hungry...desperate times gone... The home ward march...is what they long... Even they know...half will not come... Left where they fell...on the fields... Away from home...taken...Given... Another way out...what these man have given... And what they have earned... Is the right to be given a new home... For others wait...to honor the dead... These ways are the old ways... To stand...and swear once more... Born in the age of Iron...they are of man