I am war, nearly torn, never conquered, never born of me what may men ever learn hardly present, stout and stern rumors of, turn the worm I am war, red hot rage and stodgy generals in their age fight their last, till the last lives consumed like brushfire, fast neither certain, the grist mill grinds poor like chaff, and hardy rinds. turns the blood hot, turns it cold immortal generations who never grow old / immortal generations, never to grow old and statues stand the testament of men who rarely fought great in words, rarely actions, but dearly bought with less fortune men's blood and souls I am war, which breaks all things I am war, that makes em whole. Fools who seek me, know me well The name engraved on the tolling bell. It rings, it rings, in the blackest depths. It rings, it rings, it rings in hell. The inferno, it rings, for their doom and their deaths. Scourged from the memories of all who are left. With time, the bones, the wind turns them to dust In the hour glass at the end of ages. They took their war with them. No one remembers now.