through panes of glass i sit and wonder,
the mortal pains of lives of men.
ones folly is to think of pleasure,
while thinking of his greatest sin.

one by one the warriors fell,
one by one their souls did cry,
one by one tolled the death bell,
one by one, they all died.

wondering of the things long past,
they sit in mortal fear.
which will be first, which will be last,
the death bell tolls right near.

bloodlines of the past and present,
bloodlines of the futures old,
dead ones in a pool of sorrow,
bloodlines of a young dead soul.

honor bound, and glory held,
enter battle, toll the bell,
for one should see and one should tell,
i live and fight, but die in hell.

claywar!taura[r-i]