Corb Lund Follow

And I appealed to their decency, show mercy on this day
I issued them strong orders on pain of death and disarray
But in the end they would not listen and raised their lances anyway

Men of no account they were, their breeding, crude and low
With not a trace of wisdom, grace or virtue in their souls
Yet trained them, long and hard I did to bend them to the crown
To act as tools of justice, follow edict handed down

You see these were not militia men, a-fighting for their homes
Nor fathers, sons nor husbands, sire, but foreigners on loan
Mercenary killers, career soldiers to a man
Lashing out with vengeance one cannot accept or understand

I could not instill the discipline, 'twas duty to inspire
And they responded in the end to instincts of the basest kind
Now on my knee before you here, I drop my eyes in shame
Albeit little consolation, take my head for I'm to blame

Oh, so spoke a leader on losing control

And I appealed to their decency, show mercy on this day
I issued them strong orders on pain of death and disarray