All had perished on the battlefield, the enemy seemed to have won, yet the Lone Soldier didn't back down.
With a thousand men marching toward him - all with swords and blades, his face didn't show the slightest frown.
He held up his shield and brandished his sword, he stood up from the ground and cried the loudest cry,
If he was going to die today, he wouldn't feel bad, if he was going to die today, he would give it one last try.
He didn't care about the arrows which would pierce, he didn't care about the burning sun or the dry sand,
All he saw then was glory in the sky, all he saw then was his country, his place of birth, his MotherLand.
As the footsteps came ramming like bulls, he didn't even tremble and his guts didn't seem to drown.
He was losing, yet he picked his sword out and even when the enemy had won, the Lone soldier died but didn't back down.
3:)
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