Aubade, as wakes the lion, come Abbadon, while heaven bleeds in prelude to the fallen. In vagary of moment while wander, I drift incurious skies, drawn red and pierced by flare.
Choked, these hills and mire, in acres lost to numbers lined. With tarry before charge, in wait of grave, timorous while cowed but frozen. In pause of instant, short in counting yet in heart as feels a lifetime – we wait.
In detachment of place, as would depart the reach of dubiety, come once more your arms and elsewhere. For doubt rests in the act of fools while in love I shall not falter.
Woken – this in odious cry, the call to arms and charging! In roar of hoof and stamp with kick, with lance and mount we strike.
Come rain in splinter while shaft with blade as taut the bowman’s string and all around as arrows fly, the falling doth begin. But still in yard with distance more, I drive in cause and parry – And as with flame and archers aim our cause begins to carry.
Still now this wall as would not move, in line, by legion stayed. Then come ballista, come trebuchet, come stray as guard take flight.
In crash we meet as line impaired – the quarrel of the masses. With ram of steel and havoc’s reign the moment comes then passes.
My steed is fallen and I am one – lost to tides, alone!
And then she comes, her face lit golden, her glory as the sun. Her eyes in gaze, her touch as tender, our souls as joined and one – I shall not fall!
To last we fight in clash of blade, to last in tug and skirmish. Retreat the lines as once here stood, retreat while victory furnish.
Gone Abbadon, as heaven sleeps and rests beneath, the fallen. In vagary of moment while wander, I drift once more the elsewhere and lose myself to light.