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The Mighties Are Falling
Ah, the mighties are falling
Their swords return and lay upon their fragile necks
The grasses cover their crack armours
And their helmets roll and turn over helplessly,
Their rifles kiss the blood of the slain
Before their bullets turn back at them
And carry their souls to the dead land.
Where are your rushing to?
Why are you running faster?
Stop, the sweet blood
Return to your vessel
And flow through your routes
Why have you slain this august year?
For anguish is come upon us.
Publish it not in the streets, the daughters
Weep over the souls
Who clothed you in nakedness
Who saved you from slavery.
There is no glory for the battle field
The high land in the forest.
For you have swallowed our kinsmen
In their death, they are not divided
They are swifter than eagles,
And stronger than lions.
How are the mighties falling?