In a Kingdom of Iron
Under the dome of the sky
Warmachines begging for battle
And battle is their reply!
A Warcaster is more than a wizard, more than a soldier, and more than a man
Bound to their steam-powered warjacks, pneumatic nightmares which sunder the land
You can run! But can you outrun your doom?
You can hide! But you're hiding in your tomb!
In a Kingdom of Iron
Beneath the vault of the sky
Corvis has made you a weapon
On which Cygnar can rely.
You've been instructed, almost reconstructed, by Lieutenant Allister Caine
See how he bristles with his Spellstorm pistols, to burst with cerulean rain
Watch them flee! From your furnace of coal-fired hell!
Mystery! See them blister as you form the spell.
(acoustic breakdown)
The Cryx fixed their gaze upon thick stands of pine
Where your column walked solemn through lands lost to time.
Their necrotechnology, their psysiognomy,
dichotomies beyond rhythm or rhyme.
When Corruptors fire Bursters, it couldn't be worse.
Helljacks attack and your soldiers disperse.
You've seen light, a green light, an Yngwie Malmsteen light:
the blight which powers this demonic hearse.
(Rock times.)
In a Kingdom of Iron
Under the dome of the sky
Surrounded by ruination
You're waiting.
Waiting to die.
