The FIghting Men

Skeleton Army

We fight, we march – as we might tell
Across the battlefields of hell!
We draw and strike with whirling sword
To kill all foemen untoward.
We slay! And slay. And slay again
By bloodied spears we give “Amen.”
We fight until our strength is gone
And then – continue fighting on!

Our mortal bodies passed away
So long ago – I cannot say.
Our mortal flesh all withered, gone
To leave: our hardy skeleton!
We need no sleep. And hence therefore
We march: continuing our war!

Perhaps when living we were cursed
Our heinous acts deserving worst
Of fates. Perhaps. It may be so.
But howsoever, on I go.

But when will all this fighting cease?
When from this half-life gain release?
When find we our eternal peace?
Or are we doomed eternally
To fight, not die? Is it to be?
Or comes one day the thing we crave –
A resting place, a quiet grave?

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