I Understand A Fury In Your Words

Like Madness, Is The Glory Of This Life.

'tis The Soldier's Life To Have Their Balmy Slumbers Waked With Strife.

O, How Shall Summer's Honey Breath Hold Out Against The Wreckful Siege Of Battering Days, When Rocks Impregnable Are Not So Stout, Nor Gates Of Steel So Strong, But Time Decays?

All The Perfumes Of Arabia Will Not Sweeten This Little Hand! Oh, Oh, Oh!

Cry Havoc And Let Slip The Dogs Of War!