They stand guard, no fear or cry. Only some purpose in their minds they know. Some things they look over, for were they to not, these may not be as before.
A wary band now become, their purpose to themselves better known; but they guard well, this wary band - what it is they do not know.
By stealthy glance, a whispered sound, a raised eyebrow, to other gestured; they hide their fears, of knowing not what they guard.
Some special knowledge, some past history, and conquests made of yore.
They see their enemies in the distance now, among trees and mists; silhouettes of steeds, brandishing swords and garbled shrieks.
A wily group these Sentinels, progenies of might and oppression.
On tromping steeds - let no one steal their freedom back, from them so hardily won.
Warfare is of another kind now, of words and disinformation; and deception too, and this has always been the same.
A wary band now become, their purpose to themselves better known; but they guard well, this wary band - what it is they do not know.
By stealthy glance, a whispered sound, a raised eyebrow, to other gestured; they hide their fears, of knowing not what they guard.
Some special knowledge, some past history, and conquests made of yore.
They see their enemies in the distance now, among trees and mists; silhouettes of steeds, brandishing swords and garbled shrieks.
A wily group these Sentinels, progenies of might and oppression.
On tromping steeds - let no one steal their freedom back, from them so hardily won.
Warfare is of another kind now, of words and disinformation; and deception too, and this has always been the same.
