(Verse 1) We are no children of empires, no soldiers of the crown, No epitaphs are sewn for us, no icons mark our ground. We march into the dawn—with an arquebus in hand, To live, we must plunder and burn across the land. Everywhere is blood and lies—that is our decree, If you pay, we stand with you; if not—you burn, you see. There is no law in wartime, but the coin’s ringing sound, Let only ash and fire trails behind our steps be found.
(Chorus) We’ll march straight into Hell—if the payment is made! Gold is our commander, not the flag on parade. Medals can be bought—so they aren’t worth a dime, Only the tavern and the grave remember us in time. When the world forgets us, like mud beneath a boot, A brother raises up a glass, a whore cries for the brute. With no name and no glory—but a sack that’s filled with gold. That’s how mercenaries live. That’s how we leave the fold.
(Verse 2) Our oath is the contract, our law is the blade, If you hesitate a moment—in the dirt you will be laid. Do not beg for mercy—we are no knights, my friend. We will burn this city down, if that’s the message that you send. Not a hero—just a killer; not a soldier—it’s a trade. We have no need for pardon, just the gold that we are paid. Upon the bones of strangers, we will build a mighty hall, Where we’ll hang up our money-sacks and heed no god at all.
(Chorus) We’ll march straight into Hell—if the payment is made! Gold is our commander, not the flag on parade. Medals can be bought—so they aren’t worth a dime, Only the tavern and the grave remember us in time. When the world forgets us, like mud beneath a boot, A brother raises up a glass, a whore cries for the brute. With no name and no glory—but a sack that’s filled with gold. That’s how mercenaries live. That’s how we leave the fold.
(Bridge) Who are we really? Just dogs on a chain. What is the price of your fear? Count it out—and pay the gain. We fight not for ideals, for honor, or for home. Only the clatter of the coins drives us to roam.
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