Honour, a virtue of a profound esteem,
What lies within your grasp, do you deem?
You, who've never tasted fear's bitter breath,
Learn of honour, ere posing as a warrior, death.

Before you tread upon that crimson lane,
Where no false steps endure, none remain,
A path that stretches to the endless abyss,
Where melody dies and knees gently kiss.

Sorrow intertwines with agony's sting,
And praise takes the hue of blood, echoing.
This path leads but one way, no retreat,
With foes and comrades, its trials complete.

It snatches without mercy, devoid of remorse,
Into the hands of death, on this perilous course.
For the name bestowed upon you, a weight to bear,
And for your ancestors, their legacy to share.