[Insert Whimsically Deep Title Here]

I look up at the crown of the hill to find a fearful sight
Thru golden glasses, lines of cavalry, spears teasing the air
They look down on me, a fearful witness, not with hate, but love
The sun is hiding behind them, their ancient armor on fire

Corpses are strewn about them, work already finished
Their bodies are frail but steadfast in the autumn breeze
Their killers are doing the Creator's work with pride
Who knew Death could be so beautiful?