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
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
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
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