Sometimes I try to write League songs in the style of Sabaton, this is one of those attempts concerning the invasion of Ionia by Noxus.
Tired feet are marching in a line, wary gazes speak of despair
The soldiers' water is mixed with brine
There's blood on their hands, and there's filth on their hair
Their weapons and bodies are failing,
Metal and fresh are in need of repair
Cracked bones and broken swords, and torn footwear
Tools, manmade and born, they are both in disrepair
Noxians are bred in the fires of war
To die willing like pawns for a cause that they ignore
They were shipped here, weeks ago to conquer the First Lands
Putting civvies to the sword,
Obeying the orders of a demon that's passing for a sensible man
Chorus x2
Scapegoats and deceivers, and non-believers,
Monsters that laugh while they should cry and frown
Who holds the cleavers? Who wears the crown?
Who murders a nation to claim a town?
Everything shall burn, everything shall burn down
Weeks turn to months, yet the Placidium still stands
Farmers and monks are fighting fiercely to protect their homeland
Daughters and sons lift hammers and hoes,
Like the heroes of Eons past, they give their last breaths for Ionia
Two armies are marching under the weeping sky
One's a shell-shocked swarm of warriors...
The other is a trickle of women and men that know that today they'll die
Chorus x2
Bellowing and thundering, the opponents clash,
Their dreams turn to ash, their hopes turn rancid
Booming and deafening, the Zaunite machines sizzle and hiss,
The Madman doesn't care who wins, his creations bathe both armies in acid
Alchemists, demons and the cries of dead men
Warriors fall where the wise have fled
Heroes turn to villains, mouths are filling with bile
Death makes the horrors of war fade away…
While the survivors have to suffer for the rest of their lives
Weeping in remorse, howling in regret and dying…
IN EXILE!
Years slowly pass but the wounds do not heal
Kingdoms of glass shatter while the martyrs still kneel
Two armies sleeping in a valley grotesque
As the demon of Noxus unfolds new maps on his desk
There is nothing to fear, dark whispers reassure
The veneer of honor might have faded but pride makes a fine lure too
In the High Command of the Black City a demon has made his nest
Polished medals shining on his clothes, cold stone resting under his vest
Chorus x2
Scapegoats and deceivers, and non-believers,
Monsters that laugh while they should cry and frown
Who holds the cleavers? Who wears the crown?
Who murders a nation to claim a town?
Everything shall burn, everything shall burn down