Warfare in the south; Libyan Desert
The desert plains tire our army
And morale is low in our ranks

Firestormwar - Flames burning all to the core

Mystic forces control the village
Arrival in the outskirts
Hostiles seek cover from our flames
Charred bodies lying in the village street

Firestormwar - Flames burning all to the core

Suddenly voodoo drums echo under the moon
Hostile corpses slowly rises
Burnt flesh reeks through the air
Army of the dead eat of our bodies
No bullets seem to slow them down
Killing almost all of our platoon
Air support arrive and light the sky
Bombs falling. All is dead!

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