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I walk from the battlefield Blood still swelling and dripping I drop the once feather weight shield From my hand, the sword is slipping There is no pride in victory I walk from the desperate moans And now the fear pounds intense My own mouth purses and groans As I awake to the putrid scents There is no joy in victory I walk as my soul’s departing To stay with those I have slain The carrion birds feast, disheartening I see nothing but the orgy of pain There is no thrill in victory Tears part the shattered crimson The screams at the sky are my own I hear no father’s voice call me son And see no ancient ivory throne There is no crown in victory I walk from those for whom I’d die Seeing only wounds that I’ve raised This fear, this pain, these tears I cry Rue this day for which we’d praised There is no blessing in victory |