(Dedicated to the men of honour,  who bravely fought the servants of christ)    Facing down into  The blood-soaked soil  The prong pierces my neck  As it's only a swords length away  From the years to come  My words are dripping red  I drink my pride  As I shall close my eyes  No more  The prong twists in the gap of flesh  Facing down into  The blood-soaked soil  I swear to all of which I possess  And I swear to all of which I am  To abhor the fear  I deny  And the years to come  Are only a swords length away  I deny