Bilal Hb Poet Epic

Hopeless Glory

The heathens at the gate
Are roaring endlessly about our city's fate
Their swords, shackles and slates
Raises our city's sense of hate

We've had no chances
300 knights and horses waving their lances
The sound of galloping just 300 feet away
The heart-throbbing fear is here to stay

They've come to defame our gods
And enforce their goddesses
Their way is a gross facade
And we will fight them against all odds

So raise the flags of war
Hide the women and wives
For if we lose, our kin will be their whore
Threatened with their lives
Their bosoms taken as heretical brides

Hide the children
The little ones free of sin
For they will be taken in as slaves
Working for their goddess until they meet their graves

And as for the men, we fight
We charge at them with all our might
Let our gods be our armour
And their blood be our valour
Let our lack of numbers surprise 
                                   be their falter
And let their heads be sacrificed on our alters

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