With banners furled and clarions mute,
With eyes to compare,
The morning sun,
An army passes in the night.
Thin Byzantine faces, walking in,
Horror, Remote and lonely,
Above there heads the legions press on,
An army passes in the night.
The blood of there ancestors,
Fall silent till dead men hear,
The high-untrespassed sanctity of space,
An army passes in the night.
Grave men, near death who see,
Waiting to hear the winds,
Like old beggars under sacks,
An army passes in the night.
Swoosh thud swoosh thud,
An army passes.
tell me what you think or make fun of it if you want i dont care.