A Rolling Chant

Lining up for the battle at dawn.
Shields on our arms, we can transform.

We are a sandstorm, nature’s force.
Battle cries loud, this might we roar!

Charging into fronts, we are all fearless.
Our steel is cold, but our blood burns warm!

Rancor in our roots, in our armor of thorns.
Won’t stop now, feel the bite of our sword!

Shields on our arms, we can transform!
Battle cries loud, this might we roar!
Our steel is cold, but our blood burns warm!
Won’t stop now, feel the bite of our sword!

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