| Darkness, closing in on all sides
|
| I guess, we’re in for a wild ride
|
| Chance is, whether we live or die
|
| We will return, to the emperor’s light
|
| We gaze on a blazing Cadia, and the remains, of they who stayed there
|
| We’ll take this to the great rift, crusade against invaders here
|
| If there’s a beaten path, we’ll stray off, 'til we’ve beaten back the chaos
|
| In an aggrieved imperium, only the really grievous tactics pay off
|
| We’ve strolled so far, from Ultramar, we might just fall apart
|
| Hope those bolts will hold, and won’t just blow, like Bolter blasts
|
| False alarm, of course we’ll force your arm, and cause some harm
|
| On course, to fill corroded souls with holes, like some unholy autograph
|
| Giving scars, to the darkest of Eldar, killing Drukhari, for Marneus Calgar
|
| Certain angels are dark, and have fell far, but we’re still fighting,
|
| with half of our health bar
|
| No healing baths, for the shell shock, this rift’s pretty far from a health spa
|
| At most, no stars on hotels, our apartments are just kind of a cell block
|
| Is that a battle barge
|
| Or in fact a massive Travelodge?
|
| Hear the battle cry of a natural god
|
| I can ride no handle bars
|
| Battle scarred, I’ve battled hard
|
| Putting Maggotkin back in the tackle box
|
| Like an atom bomb, to a cattle prod
|
| My knack for rhyme’s, an actual farce
|
| Darkness, closing in on all sides
|
| I guess, we’re in for a wild ride
|
| Chance is, whether we live or die
|
| We will return, to the emperor’s light
|
| They are, tearing holes through our hull
|
| Chaos, like a bolt to a skull
|
| Pray now, that our resolve will hold
|
| 'Til we’re nothing but a floating hulk
|
| These watchers are heartless, see us lost in the darkness, for real nothing can
|
| startle us
|
| The fleet suffered losses, and countless of us are carcasses, officers downed
|
| While hostiles surround us, we’re indomitable, these are just common encounters
|
| We will not run aground, you’ll hear historiters tell of us, chronicles
|
| troubled with doubt
|
| But one thing is obvious now: we’re the ones you struggle without
|
| For forty-one thousand orbits around Sol, we’ll assault 'til the warp is our
|
| realm
|
| 'Til the souls of our foes all drown, or fall to the ground, it’s our ultimate
|
| vow
|
| We’re the Ultramarines, the emperor’s sword is unsheathed
|
| On any unfortunate beings, resulting to means, that insult or demean,
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| our dearest leader
|
| You’ll feel the fear, as fleets of soldiers elite, appear from Ether
|
| Peer beneath the sole of your feet, and see the ground just melt around you
|
| A planet’s skull is weak, but the soil beneath it is bounteous
|
| So count your blessings, lest you get a dressing down, form Adepta Sororitas
|
| Intercepting heretical horrors, prevent them assembling followers
|
| The sisters of battles' particular knack, is for pimping out tanks,
|
| into Sistine Chapels
|
| Similarly, send me sixteen smilies, I’ll send back sixteen pristine raptures
|
| Fear not, there’s a reason we were sent here
|
| Xenos, and Ezekyle’s demons needing censure
|
| We will, never sleep, never surrender
|
| We’ll keep defeating heathen legions, if it please our dear emperor
|
| Darkness, closing in on all sides
|
| I guess, we’re in for a wild ride
|
| Chance is, whether we live or die
|
| We will return, to the emperor’s light
|
| Will war and terror be, all you ever see?
|
| It’s been this way, since the Horus Heresy
|
| Even in space there were walls of enemies
|
| The more the merrier, bring them all, I’m ready chief
|
| We’re done with talking, send a couple of Thunderhawks in
|
| Come on, we’re going to lunge at Gork’s Grin, and shove a cork in
|
| We brought in reinforcements, the important names of ages
|
| Whose stories of warding Horus’s forces, adorn the Black Library’s pages
|
| Are we giving up? |
| Not today, one last shot through the lost crusade
|
| This ship will rip through the rift, like a whip to a wrist, or a moth through
|
| flame
|
| Who the man? |
| Guilliman, barely human now
|
| Mother Nature’s screwed, no pulling out
|
| Run around, killing the Tyranid, T’au
|
| Fill them with rounds, whatever they’re giving, we’re giving it out
|
| Never giving in, doesn’t matter whether or now
|
| We’re like imperial fists, digging and giving them hell
|
| Sticking it out without trigger discipline, trigger finger blistering, ow
|
| It’s a mystery, how the flipping hell we’re still about, still in the bout
|
| While they’re ringing the bell, we stick around, stick to our ground
|
| No dicking around, we’re going to get out the predicament, amid a thickening
|
| cloud, of sickening sound
|
| So you better be listening out, particularly well
|
| Else you’ll be missing out, wow, flipping hell
|
| Who is the emperor’s chosen poet? |
| Well now, there isn’t any doubt
|
| Darkness, closing in on all sides
|
| I guess, we’re in for a wild ride
|
| Chance is, whether we live or die
|
| We will return, to the emperor’s light
|
| Darkness, closing in on all sides
|
| I guess, we’re in for a wild ride
|
| Chance is, whether we live or die
|
| We will return, to the emperor’s light |