Old Savage

Huddled before a dim fire
Long white hair, knotted with bones
The open plains stretch in all directions

He cannot remain in one place for too long
Prison works its way to his heart
He stirs from a fitful slumber

The moon turns red
The fire begins to grow
He joins the fray

Battle calls the old savage
The fire begins to grow
He outlives them all
His body creaks but still he fights
He’s a warrior born

Three score years of bloodshed
He lost count of how many he’s taken
The battle lust is always there

The moon turns red
The fire begins to grow
He joins the fray

Battle calls the old savage
The fire begins to grow
He outlives them all
His body creaks but still he fights
He’s a warrior born

The battle lust is always there