What gates are open, fair brothers?
When the swarms of enmity strike,
are our backs against eachother's,
as we await that final fight?
Standing with only our righteous might,
hearing as the death bell sadly tolls,
falling upon such solemn light.
One can hardly ask, but almost know,
can we be true to our final oath?
But then, I dimly see: The Prince,
Partisan, Warrior, and Me,
standing strong, above our trench,
awaiting our deaths valiantly.
With our banner waving, ever gracefully,
in the last breath of Winter;
we stand blade to blood, honorably,
fighting astride, as true brothers.
In blood and spirit, there are no others.
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