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The March

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The spear in my hand,
The sword on my hip,
The shield on my arm,
The helm on my head.

The enemy is far.

The man to my right,
The man to my left,
The drums are beating,
The flutes are playing.

The enemy is seen.

My heart is pounding,
My mind is racing,
The men are quiet,
The blood-lust builds.

The enemy is near.

The charge is sounded,
All legs are racing;
All go forth
For death and glory.

The enemy is here…





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