Battle Hymn

Swords of fire in the morning sun glintSharpened tirelessly on virgin flintAxes poised, at the readyMuscular arms, all held steady

Across the plains a gruff voice yellsFor our homeland, wife’s and long lost palsFor the tavern down the roadThe pub, the beer and the bro-code

A thousand feet on downtrodden grassStream forward to cleave head from arse