• Under the hills the heart of the axe
    Arises from cinders the still core of the fire,
    Heated and hammered the handle an afterthought,
    For the hills are forging the first breath of war.
    The soldier's heart sires and brothers
    The battlefield.
    Come back in glory
    Or on your shield.

    Out of the mountains in the midst of the air
    The axes are dreaming dreaming of rock,
    The metal alive through the ages of ore,
    Stone on metal metal on stone.
    The soldier's heart contains and dreams
    The battlefield.
    Come back in glory
    Or on your shield.

    Red of iron imagined from the vein,
    Green of brass green of copper
    Sparked in the fire the forge of the world,
    Consuming in its dream as it dives into bone.
    The soldier's heart lies down, completes
    The battlefield.
    Come back in glory
    Or on your shield.