Aeveron

Years have passed away - still his soul?s condemned.
Haunted by remembrance ever ?till the end.
Blood on his hands
he can?t wash away.
Marching through the fields of death.
Blood is dripping down onto the ground.
Kill to live and live to kill.
Slaves of war - slaves of theirselves.
Scenes of battle, caught in torture,
death and terror ruled the land.
Orders led their way - no return.
Most of them they went there last,
but how to die when life has just begun ?
Play fate’s game to live,
or stay on Fields of Aeveron.