Paragon for the Wrong

Our young commander with scars on his face.
His armor gleams dull gray and bright gold.
Soldiers wait row on row, arms and legs
and sparkling eyes that gleam gray and gold somewhere deep inside.
He raises his hand. he gives the command.
We're not believers but well take a stand.
Our young commander, he has a plan.

Another fight, another win, another story to tell the kids.

So you want to rule the world?
In the morning light pale gray and gold
your flag's unfurled and we begin the fight.

Our young commander unmatched in strength and grace.
Deep in his marble palace he rules the human race.
The heretics outside these walls
They're just loud, snarling mouths without eyes or brains,
fingers or veins. Just running feet, pounding fists, gnashing teeth.
They have no faith.
Inside we're loyal disciples
Joyful hearts and sparkling eyes.
We know that we're right.

Until the fateful night the faithless filled the sky
With fire and smoke all gray and red and gold.
We all took a stand. We fought to the last.
We the faithful, row on row of arms and legs and steely eyes
We failed by sunrise.

My young commander died today.
He left me lost in smoke and flame.
His followers disperse and shrink;
Become shameful, hateful objects;
Limp arms and legs and dead, dead eyes
As his flag burns.
The ruins of his empire are gray and red and gold:
Gray smoke, red blood, gold crown
Blasphemous on a different head.
That's when it hits me my leader is dead.
My life's work is rubble.
My back's against the wall.
But I have one thing the faithless, the rebels will never have.
I'm still certain I was right.