Swords and Slaughter
We're all stationed in the valley.
The colonel bids us rally.
Bodies of the dead are tallied.
The high entia are not here.
...
The mechon charge our lines again.
In dealing death, they don't refrain.
The dying let out screams of pain.
The nopon are not here.
...
Mechon steel through flesh rending.
To slaughter, fate's portending.
For all Bionis, we're defending.
So few men are left here.
...
But the Monado's our salvation.
Through mechon makes lacerations.
We look on in trepidation.
The battle's end is here.
...
To Bionis, fallen returned.
In peace, their rest is well earned.
The mechon, they have been spurned.
But no other races here.
...
Since then, one year has been passed.
And mechon, we still outlast.
But by all, the question is asked.
In the future, will we be here?