Death whispers

Arise, from this cold ground,
buried underneath these roots,
which are slowly pushing down.
Rising dust, they prepare,
as our heavy footsteps resonate in the distance.

Closer still, anguish, despair,
the wind whispers cries of death,
panic fear it all seems clear.

We have invaded, we're out of control.
No one can save, his precious soul,
boiling under our metal armor,
we are, chanting.