Eternal War's Reflection

In Hyboria's gloom, his same-faced blade does rent. Swords split the gray of their

gore to torrent's end. Skulls piled high beneath the sun of wrathful red

and trails strewn wide, where his cursed boots tread. The Crone looms

high. Her stab a ghostly pyre. All the serving slaughterers dance,

untouched by mortal fire. Silent scars scream of glory's cost. In blood and

dust, all hope is lost. Oh, war is ugly

and beautiful, a testament to our time. War is what we were made

for, destroying all that's alive. War is true and terrible,