As the crow flies
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As the wolves howl
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The rivers will run red
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When storm clouds of war blacken the sky
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Where the plague touches, like a parasite
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War is sure to come
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Turning brother against brother
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Father against son, blood against blood
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Spilling the lifeblood of a tribe
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The fatherland weeps raped and soiled
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Stained with the blood of its sons
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Armies once allies move in for the kill
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There is no mercy for the weak
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There is no honour among thieves
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Pillars of smoke curl across the plundered land
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The stench of the dead rises high
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The conquerors bring nothing but death
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Feeding upon itself, like maggots in a wound
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A once vibrant tribe lies in the thrall of death
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The lifeless body of the land lies in peace at last
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Hopes and dreams lying cold and dead
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Alongside the bodies of the sons
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Clasped beneath winter cold breast
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Buried below its virgin white snow
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Remembered not even in memory or legend
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-----------------
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...Where The Plague Touches...
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Thunderbolt |