Down the vast hills in morning mist cold   Into the peaceful deep valley below.   Twothousand stallions foaming with hate   Carrying their masters towards their fate   Into the battle they ride   Twothousand men too young to die.   Massacre...      Coming from each side prepared for attack   Covered in dustclouds now there is no turning back   Once so peaceful valley echoes with cries   Cascades of blood and brains as the midday sun rise   Under a bloodred sky   None will live to face the night   Massacre...      Amidst the scattered limbs dead bodies finally comes to peace   While the stench of blood grows strong in the mild midday breeze   Circling the sky the vultures wait to play their part   To descend of wings of death and feast from human hearts   The battle is lost still someone always wins   And now they descend on death's black wings   Massacre...   (Massacre...)