The warren is empty tonight
Blood spills on toiled ground
Fur will hang in ragged clumps
Upon the hedgerows

Peace is lost to us now
A fettered ideal [x2]

They are the warmongers
And they will make our laws
A paw will fall upon the weak
They will mark the day

In death we make our charge, our last lament [x2]

To turn the tide, in our numbers;
The final will fall – they have our fear
We have the will
A battle cry will sound out
Shrill against the night
And with it our retribution;

The warren is empty [x5]