In the land of burned desire
There's no winter, there's no spring
It's not hot but I perspire
Who could do such dreadful thing?

Trees are ash, leaves are dust
So much evil that you shriek
Someone's wrong directed lust
Dried all water in a creek

Fields of glory, shoals of fire
Foreign office, birds of prey
Knight is just, blame his squire
Take him back to shades of grey

Make him pay for toll of war
Let him suffer for his sins
Don't you stumble, life's a whore
We all die, the loser wins