The curse of Valhalla

He pulls the blade from the bloody wound
Wipes it clean on his enemy’s back
That fallen foe will rot in the sun
Following the hellbound ebon track
Slip into the eternal ragged crack

He’s weathered many skirmishes
He’s lived through death and pain
The captain’s face is very young
But his eyes show victory in vain
Only strategy and tactics still remain

He gathers his men to fight again
The meadow crimson and damp
The assemble into ranks
Then march off toward the camp
Feasting and toasting their champ

The wounds do heal and knit
The captain looks with woe
The men—now they sleep
He knows the morn brings other foes
To fall again in Valhalla—the eternal flow.