Final Release (Martyr of the Past)

The legions of foes, battle cries heard

You unsheathe your sword, not saying a word

Glance at the blade, sharpened by the smith

Chin held high, facing the army known as myth

Cloak swishing, the death march in your tone

Aching scars trail down your back, cut to the bone

Only in myth would a man win this war

Only legend, holds the grief he fought for

Trumpets are sounded, the march of their feet

Stand in silence, hear your hearts heavy beat

Closer they come, archers shoot in vain

Swordsmen draw, this one man war, to their gain

Futile battle, martyr of the past

They halt, soon ready at last

They charge, as though an army gathered

Men of no respect, in power they lathered

His desperate attempt, his final release

Send the nations from war, into small peace

With his death, the war shall end

So he dies, among foes, and not a friend

Thirty men fall to his blade

The price of his death, in sorrow is paid

His murder brought sorrow, tears, but his peace

Martyr of the past, his souls final release

Only in myth, would a man win this war

Only legend, held the grief he fought for