We stand, here
At the last battle.
I will find you on the field.

We raise our bloodied swords,
Their blades glint with red light
As the sun glows its last rouge farewells.

A roar escapes our torn lips,
Blood falling from each cut
Armor ripped into shreds.

The first shells scatter across
The setting sun of our land,
That of the rising Sun.

And so the first shall fall,
The first of many,
The first of all.

Until we stand
In some other world
On the other side of the Sun.

And you bow to our fallen leader,
Riddled with shame
As the past besmirches your perfect world.