In a silent morning haze, under desolate trees of old  loom scattered shelters of some infantry troops.   Dawn burns east as every morning yet some unknown  tension freezes the air and the warriors grow wary   in spirit and heart...    Suddenly clouds of dust rise above the pale horizon   and the watchmen spring to their feet. Sound of horns   stirs up a warcry and the host lines up for attack!    Horns of war pierce the air  Warriors clad in shining mail   Swords and leather, fire and steel  Clash of iron, grim whet spears    Into the battlestorm...the heads of the fallen are  shattered under hoofs and chariot wheels, blades cut man  by man and the soil is soaked in blood : thousands of  slaves are working afield, reaping the harvest of death...    Yet as the dark draws nigh  And dusk falls on the menacing peace  White ghosts of war-men long reapen here -  Faces of horror and dread and of throe -  Then roam among the countless bodies  Hewn upon the battlefield    Oh, drive away the carrion   And bury your peers   And then mourn as you can  And rejoice as you dare to   Until the horns of war sound again  This is a warrior's destiny  To solemnly loaf  And await the sound of the horns...