Here Be Heathens

Such midnight elixirs make waste of sense
Bearing visions of towers, of proud royal tents
Waving pennants of an epoch of might
An age of raised crosses and crusading light

Gilded chalices and flashing, sharp swords
And lachrymose maidens grieving Teutonic lords
Saintly shadows cast by broad shields
On armoured chargers, across crimson fields

Knights among men bearing the one true name
To the very same lands from whence their God came
Delivering their verdict, their punishment, their law
Both judges and jurors in their court of gore

A holy belief, in a righteous command
To reign in those lands, by bloody demand

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