Death’s hand resting on his shoulder,
Vainly the warrior fights on.
For life is naught but a struggle
To delay the Reaper’s cold clutch.
Weapons clash as his comrades fall,
Spitting their last breath at their foes.
In the end, only he remains,
Glaring defiance at his fate.
Like a relentless tide of steel,
The enemy breaks upon him.
Blood dripping from his hungry blade,
He meets doom with a savage grin.
Then, with his last dying strength,
He sends a foe to great Death first.