GRIM

I heard the drums of thunder,
the sound of a hundred marching fleets,
As men of ancient valor
marched through our system streets,
They marched in holiest fellowship,
They mix from many distant lands.

Their trumpets raged the morning,
With their Grim Marching band,
Like pillagers of harvest,
Their fame is far abroad,
As gray remorseless troopers,
They plunder and maraud.

The flowers wilt before them;
The dust coats their machines;
Their marching stills the universe;
Their guns loaded with Dread Dreams,
Always marching, to the lockstep of time.

Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.