To Arms.

Who there beckons and taunts me with voice, to deem me worthy of a sacred choice. What than shall I speak, you whom knoweth all things, my armour is small, and stature meek, to be sealed in a band with silver rings. To pluck up, to pull down and cast away, in word and sword turning night into day. Who am I but a servant maid to touch this task at hand, in furrowed brow I beg to say, your height is countless Im at your command. To arms quite soon my visions are true, the voice here to stay, I'm coming for you. I'll find you in the storm in your surprised eyes, no man left behind shall be the voice that cries. On bended knee I solemnly swear, the sacrifice and weight it bares. My decree is for truth in loyalty, to the king of kings and all his glory!