A thousand strong

I am a thousand men, their cries
I sense with urge and longing;
Before her image, mighty death,
They all prepare to flee, but one
Whose heart keeps them within him

I am a thousand strong, in me
Their weaknesses are mine;
Before her image, mighty death,
They all fall to a giant slumber,
And all their weakness writhes and rots -
There’s one, though, who beholds them all
And to her lullabies believes
A thousand strong be in him

I am a thousand men, the mistress
They all seek is pale and grins;
When they do battle with her scythe
They all do fall – if one remains
To witness her, to scour the hearts
And reach towards her staring guise,
Then all has not been vain