Gun fire runs loud,
and bellows of rage shout out.
Swords cling and clack,
the enemy's men still fight back.

The captains ride atop their steeds,
holding our nation's flag for all to see.
Crys of pain are heard,
but we all know its not a bird.

Your men have fallen back,
their enemy chasing in their tracks.
The bell has rung for retreat,
but you refuse to be beat.

Drawing your sword you run back in,
your only defence a sword weapon.

Men surround you left and right,
you fight with all your might.
Your men don't stay to help,
they just run and yelp.

Years later they come to see,
whats left of the battle of 1933.
Your body in the ground,
somewhere never to be found.
At least you had the courage,
for just one last swing.