• They sheen grow dull in autumn light,
    They feathers rough from evening flight.
    And they path grows dimmer still,
    I run thy plains with holy might.

    "Whi-Ah!"
    "Whi-Ah!"

    Thy muscles scream with no relent,
    To stop and rest, the evening spent.
    Thy refuse to stop the chase,
    For those I love are still as stake.

    "Whi-Ah!"
    "Whi-Ah!"

    They trail runs cold it well may seem
    Through rivers, valleys, plains, and streams.
    I spread my wings with pure desire,
    To keep it from thy dam and sire.

    "Whi-Ah!"
    "Whi-Ah!"

    They blood runs hot with fear and hate,
    To put and end to thy own fate.
    Down I plundge with my war cry,
    And I am left to starve and die.

    "Whi-Ah!"
    "Whi-Ah!"

    Thy crippled bones with flesh and blood,
    Life useless in the stinking mud.
    Though soul released from thy own fate,
    Thy would was crippled with my hate.

    "Whi-Ah!"
    "Whi-Ah!"

    Disease took over thy as foal,
    For it stole away my very soul.
    Thy released from it's cold grasp,
    Wander till the very last.

    "Whi-Ah!"
    "Whi-Ah!"

    They war cry heard forever more,
    Remind of what it had in store.
    The pain and fear it did create,
    Fell into thy own fate.