Let The Fools Cheer-Rumpelstiltskin Grinder

When prophecies speak of victory There is still a need to fear May the gluttons fill their plates May the crowds of fools cheer A southern fire rises From the bay of Buccaneers Who despite the hell spawned winds Decided not to stop here In the face of defeat we fought No excuse we make Our time was bled away With everything at stake Abandoned veteran Of a doomed crusade An Eagles last flight To take away our faith Bodies will rot, through bodies I wade! We have seen heroes Bleeding every day Running from a curse That will never go away The wind blows coldest here The ground itself is dead Most vermin died here early As the bigger rats were fed Nowhere left to go now The best we still can't trust Tear down my kingdom I will spit on the dust