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The warren is empty tonight, |
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Blood spills on toiled ground |
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Fur will hang in ragged clumps |
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Upon the hedgerows |
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Peace is lost to us now, |
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A fettered ideal x 2 |
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They are the warmongers |
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And they will make our laws |
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A paw will fall upon the weak |
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They will mark the day |
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In death we make our charge, our last lament x2 |
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To turn the tide, in our numbers; |
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The final will fall - they have our fear |
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We have the will |
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A battle cry will sound out |
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Shrill against the night |
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And with it our retribution; |
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The warren is empty x 5 |
