Deus Vult: A Call to Arms

Beneath the sun We march where prophets Once were thrown.

All banners snap Like breaking spines. Black cross on white, the only sign.

Remember, brother, flesh must fall. The worm awaits, both great and

small. Yet steel sings louder than the grave.

Deus vult, and all are saved. Memento mori, carved in stone.

Your breath is borrowed, not your own. Deus vult, the cry rings

clear through blood and fire. Death draws near. From towers to

Vienna's gate, we hold the line against their hate. A last moon