The pattern of a distant drum
Gathers all from the dark, 
The many coursing with fire
Full and restless to march  

It is low and modest 
Building speed overnight 
Among the honest light 
Of heroes far and wide 

The drum pattern swells 
Into encircling thunder, 
With the tearful screams 
Of torn and tarnished mothers 

The guilt lies with one 
The chief, the merchant, the liar 
Trembling at the door 
Soon to burst asunder