Army of the Dead

They sleep the final sleep,

And dream of lands unknown.

Of villages and keeps,

Of towns of wood and stone.

Then through the dark a call,

Rings clarion clear and true.

"Arise from your steep fall!"

And so arise they do.

No longer bound by Death,

Their hearts beat strong and proud.

They take in cleansing breath,

And greet the world around.

And then another call,

"To arms, prepare for war!"

They hear it one and all,

And prepare with hands assured.

With swords of glass and light,

The call to arms they honor.

With helms and tabards white,

And brilliant, gleaming armor.

And then a final call,

"Ride out, brave men, ride out!"

And so ride out they all,

On steeds moon-pale and stout.

They ride through lands they dreamed,

The unknown now is known.

Through landscapes vibrant green,

The towns of wood and stone.

Alas! They cannot tarry,

'Tis war for whence they're bound.

"Ride on ye and be merry!"

The silver trumpets sound.

When weary are the horses' feet,

And more to come yet be.

The foe do they finally meet,

Upon a salt-dry sea.

The evil army, from afar!

They've come to fight again!

Black numbered as inverted stars,

Upon the pure white plain.

The closer do they draw,

And nervous are the horses.

The Evil's wrought of twisted flaws,

And animated corpses.

They see the tarnished helmets;

Of blackened iron made.

The Evil's clad in tattered velvet,

Of black, blacker than shade.

For a blink a silent lull,

The calm before the storm.

And then the battle starts in full,

All can be heard's the clash of arms.

The bloody battle rages,

By the edges of the sea.

They battle through the ages;

For what seems eternally.

When victory is imminent,

They loose a final shout.

They've battled for the innocent,

The tides have turned about!

When the last foe falls,

They see the perverse irony:

Their armor's plain and served them well,

And the foe is clad in finery.

The salty plain is now dissolved,

In blood as well as tears.

The evil army's threat resolved,

So too the danger all once feared.

They trudge home broken-hearted,

Although they have just won.

Though Evil has been thwarted,

They glory in it, none.

When their home they reach,

Their armor they discard.

For killing they beseech,

Forgiveness as reward.

And then a final parting,

For to Death they are returned.

Leave-taking just as starting,

In cold graves they've never spurned.

A new and dreamless sleep,

A long, unbroken slumber.

Now silence shall they ever keep,

Every one among their number.

They once were graced with power,

Every Evil they filled with dread.

They were the Silver Savior;

The Army of the Dead.