Dies the Fire

Once again for Empire,

The sound of war drums beat.

Swords and spears and shields,

Carried by marching feet.

…

Crimson banners held aloft,

Flying high for all to see.

The sigil of the Army,

In service to his majesty.

…

All given oaths in language ancient,

To fight on till the end.

To in one hand hold shield,

With other, our foes shall rend.

…

Dark times upon the Empire,

As our enemies close in.

All across our borders,

Comes the sound of battles' din.

…

Surdans, Varden, from the south,

While the elves come from the east.

No halt to their advances,

From battles no release.

…

We look at the skies for dragons,

A black one or a red.

But so often just a blue,

A harbinger of dread.

…

Crimson still our banners,

As we hold back the flood.

Crimson too our armour,

Stained by streams of blood.

…

No word from Uru'baen,

All told to not ask why.

"Hold the line, fight till the end,

Fight on until you die."

…

So here we are, beaten and bloodied,

In situation dire.

Banners still flap in the wind,

But long has died our fire.

…

Urgals, dwarfs, or humans,

To whose blades shall we fall?

Short of men, supplies, resolve,

How can we be asked to stand tall?

…

Shall we be relieved and sent up north,

To fight masters of the bow?

On both our fronts our foes close in,

Soon there'll be nowhere left to go.

…

We're told that this won't come to pass,

We face battle in the morn.

In sullen silence we prepare,

Gazes ashen and forlorn.

…

While I prepare, I look upwards,

See the stars and moon.

Do the gods above look down on us,

For those who death comes soon?

…

No sign of a dragon,

No glimpse of red or black.

Just the sight of nearby fires,

Of foes ready to attack.

…

We all know on the morn we die,

As we act as a rear-guard.

As the Army retreats northward,

The burden weighs down hard.

…

We we're all here to defend our lands,

From foes who seek to plunder.

Traitors allied with non-humans,

Who seek our lands to rip asunder.

…

The campfire's still burning,

Still lit, but dim our fire.

To buy time with lives and blood,

To that we can aspire.

…

The morn it comes, a trumpet sounds,

Upon all our hearts weighs dread.

But we still prepare a shield wall,

An army of the dead.

…

Soon come the spears, the axes, arrows,

Soon will die our flame.

For life and freedom, for the Empire,

For Galbatorix, may he reign.