Overrun

The sun blazed with fury across the fields.
Our march had been rough, but we could not yield.
Lead flew, guns roared, some were cut down by the Oncoming horde.
Thousands marched on, straight through our lines, Unable to fight, we drew our knives.
In the suns peaceful slumber,
We ended others.
Cut down in our rage,
We wandered the maze.
Although we were few,
We held off the odds,
Killing in silence,
As if without a cause.