It was a cold and wintry night
When the unknown legion rose up from out the mud
Their clothes were torn and bloody from their last ferocious fight
Tattered remnants of proud tartan kilts covered with dark, dried blood.
Rank upon rank of un-dead soldier, marching the long and winding road
The silver moonlight glints off their fearsome parade
Marching, Marching ever onward, their progress never slowed.
Many a brave warrior has fallen before their blades.
Cold blank eyes staring straight ahead
A relentless killing machine, monstrous in proportion
The legion keeps on marching, the legion of the un-dead.
It's searching, always searching this monstrous un-dead legion
The legion of the un-dead
No colours or standards have they
Cold blank staring eyes instead
Reminiscing about their last day.
These un-dead warriors crave revenge for that fateful day
When their life was so cruelly taken away.
So my friends do beware, let not your paths ever meet,
For you will surely meet your death, beneath the marching skeletal feet.
So this message I will give you once and only once,
Beware the un-dead legion, you will meet them only once!