King Crimson

The Battle Of Glass Tears
Night enfolds her cloak of holes

Around the river meadow

Old moon-light stalks by brocken ploughs

Hides spokeless wheels in shadows

Sentries lean on thorn wood spears

Blow on their hands, stare eastwards

Burnt with dream and taut with fear

Dawn's misty shawl upon them

Three hills apart great armies stir

Spit oath and curse as day breaks

Forming lines of horse and steel

By even yards march forward

From Paroles Mania