| Fog of cool color. Hovering blue mist covers. Hides as it reveals.
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Gun smoke rises now revealing the battlefield. The dead have blank stares.
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| Shambling readiness awaiting the loud horn-call. Jaws slack. Need to feed.
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Uniformed bodies once festooned in blue or grey crave the taste of red.
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| Past Appomattox. Tattered uniforms dodder. March no longer heard.
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Generals knew not how the dead rose up to fight. Calling for men's flesh
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| What call do they hear? All awareness is hunger. Gnawing ache to feed.
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Gabriel's trumpet sounding off in righteous blasts. United, they feast
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| Flesh torn from live limbs. Screams and sounds of gluttony rends metal-tinged air
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Seals undone, broken. Angels no longer weeping. Reapers fear to tread.
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| With a great rumble the earth is ripped asunder. Warriors called home.
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Blood calls out to blood. The valley burns in decent. Ash floats on the wind
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| Falling in the rift, spine-chilling cries fill the air. Quickly extinguished
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The howls of death fade. Once again, the living breathe. Their path ever clear.
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