There is a savage beast in every man, when you hand a man a sword
or a spear and send him into war, the beast stirs.

The scent of blood is all it takes to wake him.

But what of the cheap battle before us?
The battles where no blood or entrails are spilt?

The feasts, the spoils, the merriment, laughter that abounds, the battle
is lost or won in that arena, not in the meadows, forests, the icy plains.
We cannot fight those battles, we have no weapons.
The highborn rule, it is their battle, their war, our lives.

Songs of bravery and valor of others is what we sing. Repeated chants not of our own.
Songs of banners and flags of a house we chose to align, as dogs on a short leash.
Obedient but not wise, we are. Singing songs not our own kind, but of them.
Oh, and we sing loud, brash and low believing the words, chastising the curious,
banishing the others. Slaves to the word.

The beast yearns to be free. Yet we understand not freedom or honor; the taste, the smell of the
copper of blood, knowing not what it means to spill it ... yet.

Yet our honor deserves that knowledge, that freedom.

Are we cowards? Are we the weak? Are we the craven among men of valor and courage?

Break free and speak you peasants.

This is not what of are we made.
We are created of rock, of the earth, of the indestructible foundation of life.

This is not what we deserve, fight for our rights, our destiny, our future.

This existence is theirs, not ours. Fight to change!
Break free now or remain in the dregs of their humanity.

Fight against the being that offends all of the ones that rule.