Crusade

The tides go in, the tides go out,
The moon moves softly round,
The cool breeze stirs the darkened grass,
With magic Earth is crowned.

Then feud the men, and feud the lands
O'er why these glories live.
They make there wars, they strip the land,
They take all Earth can give.

The learned fools of high estate
Craft god machines to slay,
While plotting fools upon the throne
Do work only to stay.

About them blood of marching pawns
Leaks poison in the ground,
While they grow old with jealous rage
And kill their foes where found.

And so it was to find the truth,
That man dug out his grave.
He answered peace with trumpets blare
And called his actions brave.

The bloody tides was in, wash out,
The moon casts ghostly pall,
The moaning wind wails through the night,
No magic, Death is all.