Marching Song - Esben and the Witch

In a wilderness of foggy thoughts

Battling, with your minds retorts

Walking on empty plains

Where deserts soak up

Even drowning rains

Soldier on to this

Marching song

Head held high

With eyes fixed strong

Drum beat thud

Cymbal crash down

The mud it is thick

With desires to drown

Your feet in earth

Your boots are sinking

Sick with the memory

Of long lost thinking

And armies of many

Are fighting their fights

Lost in the blackness

They’re losing their sights

Your veins are my trenches

My gun is my own

The whispers fall heavy

With delicate moans

Arms and legs

Teeth and nail

Our fragile companions

Are destined to fail

For this battalion

Has been run through

Therefore captains

And comrades

I bid you all adieu