Copyright 2007

Six thousand men in marching suits,

Rise upon the hill,

We hide beneath the fortress walls,

So calm,

So dark,

So still.

If ever we kept secrets,

To bloody our own souls,

Now we stand together,

Crumbling walls and gaping holes.

Rise up,

Stand tall,

Stand higher than before.


My sword,

Cut the sand upon the floor!

I'm here!

You're here!

We're in this to the end.

In death,

And life,

The sacred word is Friend.