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Pete Atkin
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The Colours of the Night
The frozen rain, the swinging gate
The tinge of blood, the hinge of fate
An ill wind and it's getting late
But here we stay
And it is death to wait
But here we stay
Behold the colours of the night
The crimson lake, the China white
They crackle in their drifting flight
They fade, they fade away
And we are cruelly scarred
But here we stay
The wall that we were sent to guard
Was taller than a man
Before this thing began
But here we stay
Nobody calls the battle lost
While we are here to pay the cost
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Breathing a cloud into the frost
For come what may
We drink a witches' brew
But here we stay
Where they are many, we are few
And poor where they are rich
And this is the last ditch
But here we stay
The hymn of hate, the cry of pain
The swinging gate, the frozen rain
The dawn burns like the brand of Cain
But here we stay
And who can count the slain
But here we stay
They are the scythe, we are the grain
But here we stay
Here we stay
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