The Wolves

From the wolves, from the wolves
We are running from the wolves
Dressed in whites of purest wool
Their words are honey turning bitter inside
Their true form in disguises they hide

We must turn, we must stand
They shan't ravage this land
Against them, together we will band
Fire in our hearts to our tongues poured
And wield the sharp double-edged sword

To the towers, to the walls
That protect our dear halls
From the malice of those treacherous fools
Bombard us with lies and hate like hail
But never shall they prevail

Let us rise, let us shout
Let grace demolish the doubt
See hope reigns throughout
Light is stronger and the victory won
Our King is the Father's Son

By Pete Scopes