The Phantom Bowmen - Arkham Witch

Shades of iron grey against a mustard sky

The world´s a weary corpse out leant

Through the thickening gas, some men are born to die

And some their country´s rage to vent

The heaviest burden that a soldier has to bear

The crushing weight of his defeat

To save an empire, men offer up their prayer

To strive, to fight, and not to yield

Adsit Anglis, Sanctus Georgius

The Phantom Bowmen of Agincourt

Overwhelming odds too Englishmen are bait

Outnumbered, figures soldier on

But prayers of sout hearts are heard by noble dead

And soon begins the battlesong!

´Ye ghosts of England that lay grounded in the soil

Take your hope and look to the skies

And all old lions that once roared at Agincourt

I now command thee to arise!

Adis Anglais, Sanctus Georgius

The Phantom Bowmen of Agincourt

A raining tide of arrows born on spectral wings

Array, Array, Array, Array!

Falling from the sky was angel steel divine

To wash the enemy away

The noble German dead lay littered on the soul

And none to bar the soldiers´ path

But no mortal wound on these men could be found

Just Merry England´s hearty laugh!

Adsit Anlias, Sanctus Georgius

High chevalier — defend us all!