Upon the battlements
The sentries watch and wait
They are bored but attentive
Fearing the result of their sleep
Should they fall
And the enemy jumps the gates
They are waiting for
the Golden Horde
Who comes without invite
Who ride their ponies
And foot march through storms
Without rest, without mercy
Who fears neither darkness nor light
The winter forgives no one
So the marchers never slow down
To let the snows gather
Nor linger in the winter sun
Singularly driven
To assault the neighboring land
Stealing all the grains
Slaving and depraving, and the like
Crawling up the castle walls
And consuming every life
So the sentries know their duty
And make certain
To be awake for the onslaught
Even if they will not survive
