Dragonborn

This is not a battle for gold Nor it is a battle for the belly of any might. This is a crusade to restore a hope, a pasture, a future for our scion. Farther east in the matebele, beyond the ribbon of mountains The sorcerers' eye sees a feather of an eagle stooping down backs of nimbus . The odds loll in the palms of our gods. And today, was coloured by whom holds the brushes of creation. We will plunge our feet into the loam of soils of war And wage our lives for a price. Legendry will be carried by the winds that comb our lands. The veil is unfold, our five fathers await. Countrymen, warriors, farmers and hunters; Armour up your buffalo skins Beat the leather of your chest; summon your guts Draw your bows; and feel the womb of redemption along their arch. Dance your spears high; And see the blades split freights of gleam with every turn. Raise the bulk of your axes; Watch their heads dent the tan of the sun. The clattering of weapons; will swing open the blood gates The lands will flood, ashes will be washed Smoke, dust and their woollen clouds will simmer down But honour with sip into the earth. A grainful of us will fall into a slumber From which our children's children will awake. But for that handful, very well, I beg of you to live on Clinge not to logs of sorrow painted with tears. Live on; I beg of you to live on.