Men, men--three hundred of them
Were marching through the woods.
Leading them was Captain Stem.
They lived off berries and wild fruits.
The night was dark;
They rubbed the stones
Which did spark.
And somewhere a lone wolf moans,
But the men were brave,
Didn’t care about their grave.
But their grave was waiting,
The foe was trailing.
The enemy charged with guns,
And they came in tons.
The Company was heavily outnumbered,
But their morale wasn't crumbled.
And they fought and fought,
Then Captain Stem was shot.
It seemed that they'd lose the fight—
It was such an awful night.
They'd depleted the bullets of their guns;
God save our Spartans!
The enemy had them surrounded,
And a little was left of the Three Hundred.
And not even the 'Charge of The Light Brigade'
Was so dark and tragic.
Only thing that could come to their aid
Was a heavenly magic.
But the God didn't come to help—
The Company was all by itself.
And Gunfire was everywhere,
Our men were in the middle of nowhere.
And when the hope seemed dim,
The Fox Company of Captain Tim
Emerged from the dark hue
To come to their rescue.