The warren is empty tonight,   blood spills on toiled ground   fur will hang in ragged clumps   Upon the hedgerows      Peace is lost to us now,   a fettered ideal x 2      They are the warmongers   And they will make our laws   A paw will fall upon the weak   They will mark the day      In death we make our charge, our last lament x2      To turn the tide, in our numbers;   the final will fall - they have our fear   We have the will   A battle cry will sound out   shrill against the night   and with it our retribution;      the warren is empty x 5