They fought and died

Sparkling day in blazing light,
not a sign of war or fight,
but the shadows came with dark,
leaving dead behind - their mark.

Us, who don't deserve a sword,
pray for safeness for our Lord,
we are here, when they must die,
laments blend with battle cry.

If only I could wield a blade,
one of steel and blood be made,
I shall gallop on my steed,
slay our foes and make them bleed.

And even if I, in my rage,
see the vanish of our age,
I will know that I have died
with my soul fulfilled with pride.