Michael Andres and James

It's hard, the klansmen galloping down Red, the dust their hooves have blown Loud, the lashing of their steel Dim, the terror they conceal Mad was the moon when Michael died Chill were his thighs against the clay Never more to know the day Dry was his tongue against the mold Never to be growing old But once his men had riding tall Now all is blood upon their hands It's woah, woah, woah and woah I'm calling Twelve wild winds are loudly raging Nine salt seas are deeply boiling Six dark swans are fiercely reeling Three cold graves are numbly wailing Blue, the hooded eyes that blind Blonde, the sour ties that bind White, mushroom faces leer Red, the flaming cross they bare Black was the sun when Andrew died Chill were his eyes against the clay Never more to see the day Cold were his loins against the loan Never to be going home But once his men had riding tall Now all his blood upon our hands It's woah, woah, woah and woah I'm calling Twelve wild winds are loudly raging Nine salt seas are deeply boiling Six dark swans are fiercely reeling Three cold graves are numbly wailing It's one, the wizard high on his throne Two, the whispers he has moaned Three, the bodies underground Four, the freedoms none of them found Five, their senses never more And six, their parents on the shore It's homey bells for James who died Chill as his groin against the clay Never more to feel the day But once his men had riding tall Now all his blood upon our hands It's woah, woah, woah and woah I'm calling Twelve wild winds are loudly raging Nine salt seas are deeply boiling Six dark swans are fiercely reeling Three cold graves are numbly wailing