The Knights

There gallop the valiant knights
Their banners stream behind as robust kites
Mounted atop fearless war horses
United stalwartly into magnificent forces
They head off into the uncultivated storm
Where there awaits them little-to-no warm
Now here come the sharpened spears
Bringing with them years of solemn tears
And how long will these foolish men battle?
Who will reside seated in their saddle?
Who first will shed their own worthless blood?
Shortly to be spilled around like nothing more than mud
It drips lyrically off murderous blood-thirsty swords
Plop plop plop---In war, there are no rewards
Swarming perilously together like a rampant monster of the sea
Their ravenous blades thrash about in reckless frenzy
Death searches warily for men who fight in doubt
And when the shadow seizes you, all you can do is shout
Now there they ride, deep into Doom's gluttonous hands
Nothing will be left over for the last man that stands
Yet they creep hungrily forward like an undertaking tide
Clad all in polished steel, they butcher as they ride
When man after man falls dead into the blood-packed trenches
There will be nothing left in this brutal world; only widowed wenches
And cease their merciless slaughtering, these men will not ever
Until there no longer relics one solitary man to sever
And when the last man breathes his final breath
No knight in this futile battle will have earned an admirable death