| Charging through the fields of Romans
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| Malice creeping forth
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| Women, children — scum and vermin
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| Filth of feeble kingdoms burning
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| Rapid brutal acts in warfare, savage, bestial rage
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| Mighty hunnic warrior chief
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| Descendent of the Xung-Nu Dragon
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| Raised on desolate steppes, with horseback aligned
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| Skillfully mastering dexterity along with his might
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| Though his ambition to rule brought feuds and dismay
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| Bledda would not be the last to behold his reign
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| (Now) merging the scoundrels and villains in arms, he marches to war
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| Demolishing villages, pillaging every home
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| Gallic towns were slaughtered, removed from the face of the earth
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| (And) the Visigoths grew in detest to the hunnic abuse
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| Flavius Aethius, quickly emerged to seek favour in coat of arms
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| For the Visigoths shared the Romans detest to their foe
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| By the gates of Orléans, the bloodiest of carnage was fought
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| And the very first emblem of frailty was yet to unfold
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| Compelled to withdraw with uttermost haste, seeking refuge beyond the gates
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| Where strategical virtues would grant a superior blow
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| Alas, the strife was lost to the Magister Militums bliss
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| But they would not evade The Scource of God!
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| «Worthless, frail offal!»
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| His spiteful intentions ablaze
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| With the essence brought forth by the
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| Foulest form of stars
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| Now vengeance was imminent, as he aspires to devastate and burn
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| «May all ye tremble and lay faith in thy plea
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| For now we march upon Rome herself!»
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| Tainted, abhorred, disgraced and forlorn
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| Beseeching and pleading to spare them from woe
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| An armistice was sealed for their relentlessness subdued
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| Though forthwith he’d conceive plans most vile and crude
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| Yet a hero’s death was not in store, nor bloodshed, nor defeat.
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| For he would meet his bane through the chalice of deceit
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| A thousand slaves erect the cage where he would find serenity
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| Remains within the rivers are now washing away
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| To this day |