Lords - The Sword

The lords of the passes are arming their vassals

You’ll find no shelter that way

The conscripts they’ve taken have never returned

And our hopes fade with each passing day

The gates of the keeps are all closing

And broken men wander the road

The farmers have fled to the forests

Burning their fields as they go

The dukes of the marches have ordered their archers

To shoot all outlanders on sight

Turn back your horses before it’s too late

There’ll be no safe crossing this night

Hear the horns, pounding hooves

Visions of cities aflame

Wailing cries, dawn of doom

Die by the sword or in chains

Men kneel in temples of madness

False prophets spread discord and fear

Darkness descends once again

They say the lords of the last days rule here