Overture

The moonlit night, the holy Light;
Our fires reflect the stars.
The soldiers rest, their captain dressed.
The men won’t see my scars.

In full array, I stood to pray.
In pride I could not kneel.
I prayed for glory and heroes stories.
I put my faith in steel.

So I did not pray for victory.
I prayed that songs be sung.
I asked God for a vain glory,
And thus we were undone.

The druids hid behind the dark,
Through vile and wicked ways.
And I alone heard howl and bark;
The demon dogs that bay.

I stood and watched one hundred men.
I was Centurion.
I saw Hell open, swallow them,
And I was only one.

One hundred men, as close as kin
Tomorrow they’d know war.
One hundred lives that will not rise
Tomorrow, never more.

The sun rose red above my head,
And heavy on my heart.
No soldier wakes as morning breaks,
No battles here to start.

One hundred fathers’ lives.
One hundred sons’ or brothers’.
One hundred weeping wives,
One hundred widowed mothers.

Now I can kneel. There is no steel
Can save me from what’s come.
In Hell’s dark fire, as if a pyre,
I lost my own dear son.

The sages spell complete,
Those mages made retreat.
One final chant they make,
That I would have the fate
Of all the men that I lost.
The fate of those who paid my cost.

Could any of them know
The curse that they bestowed?
It did not bring me bitter death,
They could not take away my breath.
Those warlocks cursed me by my name,
And that they could not claim.

For every son of God I lost
I’m forced to pay a price.
A score of years—a modest cost—
For each upon my life.

The fate that I am given now
Is not to share their death.
My curse, though I cannot say how,
That I should have their breath.

For twenty years I am one man,
And twenty more per life.
For each I do that which I can
To earn him paradise.