Bathory

Down the vast hills in morning mist cold
Into the peaceful deep valley below
Twothousand stallions foaming with hate
Carrying their masters towards their fate
Into the battle they ride
Twothousand men too young to die
Massacre...
Coming from each side prepared for attack
Covered in dustclouds now there is no turning back
Once so peaceful valley echoes with cries
Cascades of blood and brains as the midday sun rise