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The narrow path I walk is covered in green
My ghost is standing still unseen
Take not my heart from the glen
I will fight for it until the bitter end
Silently I see the world lay before me
The cannon blast is ringing the bell
Body is cold upon the merchant’s shell
Five or more they scale the hanging vine
Boulders rumble down making them mine
Music plays, a march from olden days
Blood upon the water lives to see
A curse of words float down condemning me
I stand my ground flames shoot high
What is death at least one hundred cry
God’s heavy hand is laid upon my soul
Valley of the damned in smoke
Last of oak trees in the meadow choke
Smell of life a flickering flame
Nobody recalls which or who is to blame
In the wind at night people still speak my name
The narrow path is now a memory
Carcasses left scared in a cemetery
Strong and tall grows the oak tree
Steel cross is all that’s left of me
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