Harvest Moon Shades

Campfires – light's demise
One old man steps aside
With rusty blade in weary hand
Smells the air and does a chant

"Reap, angel, watch us naunt
Leam this night of no hope
And moon shades, before and ever on
Hail them being worth of love..."

Horns call for war, all men fall
Ever so high
And white they stand
Yet their feet will never touch this land

Hate they'll sow, and hate shall grow
On these fields shall halberds dance
With arbalests and spears
All sweeping death's hand