Out on the field nightfall doth break,
In the mid of morning.
Upon the blades frost tendrils weave,
Though winter gave no warning.
Oh how the eye, high in the sky,
Sees the field with pleasure.
Not for the fight he soon will win,
But just to watch at leisure.
If in a war you will succeed,
Make the Ork your grunt.
Built they are for the ravage of war,
Few can take so blunt.
If on the field your foes to bleed,
Make your towers high…
And give the word to end the deed,
To the Ringwraiths in the sky.
For none are as fierce as the Nazgul,
And none may hinder their steps.
What knows a man of the hate and fear,
That seeps from their very depths?
None may hold the Nazgul,
At least none save the eye.
And they are a fearful last sight to see,
In the second before you die…
…Out on the field nightfall doth break,
In the mid of morning.
Upon the blades frost tendrils weave,
Though winter, gave no warning.