Originaltext
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The battle weary bring the wounded home
The soles of the dead face the Holy one
As the king smiles unto the rose
Justified in what he knows
Sing glory to the king, for his holy win,
Over territory
We bury the dead and turn the horses for home
After laying a wreath against the last tombstone.
A final word for the passing by the holy priest
We head for home for a celebratory feast
