The sound of boots ringing on cobblestones fills the air,
I see shapes of men clad in grey marching down the street.
These are not men but images of things that were;
These are not men for they feel neither hope nor mercy.
These shades pass by carrying death in their hands and flags dyed with bl...
With armor hard and hearts cold,
We came from foreign lands.
Our blades are sharp and spirits bold,
Deadly weapons in our hands.
Bringing conquest and death,
We came from lands afar.
Fighting to the last breath
We are the Sons of Mars....