Old boots kick the dying spark
Iron shields glow in the dark
Coffee steams in a rusted cup
Until the morning sun comes up
Heavy coats scent of pine and salt
Bringing the long march to a halt
Silver rings on a weathered hand
Guarding the border of the land
Ash falls slow on the ancient floor
Closing the heavy iron door
Blood on the blade and salt in the wind
Where the long lonely watches begin
One man tells of a mountain peak
Where the brave grow old and weak
Another speaks of a deep red vein
And the cost of a sudden rain
Ash falls slow on the ancient floor
Closing the heavy iron door
Blood on the blade and salt in the wind
Where the long lonely watches begin
The fire dips low to a golden hue
The midnight sky turns a frozen blue
No one sleeps while the torches burn
Waiting for the tide to turn
Rough jokes fly like a jagged stone
A brotherhood carved out of bone
Soured wine in a wooden bowl
Feeding the hunger of the soul
Leather straps pull tight on the gear
Wiping away the ghost of fear
Cold wind bites through the wool and lace
Etching a line on a tired face
Ash falls slow on the ancient floor
Closing the heavy iron door
Blood on the blade and salt in the wind
Where the long lonely watches begin
Cold stone, grey light.
Close the door tight.
