• Toy soldiers up, held to arms!
    To march in line to glory!
    They load their guns, put on their hats,
    And march without a worry.

    The rythem starts, their steps keep beat
    The song of certain win,
    Their hearts are metal duracels
    deep beneth their skin.

    Flawless stride, they attack their mark,
    The rat king bold and blurry.
    His troops attack, without a thought,
    Their swords strike in a fury.

    They bust apart, they stop the rush,
    Batterys hit the floor.
    They stop the march, the end has come
    Their song plays nevermore

    -The sorrowed poet