• A king, said to be descended from Hercules himself
    Lead a troop of 300 soldiers
    They left Sparta with out a blessing
    Shields gold as the sun
    And as hard as steel
    Spears long as a horse
    But as sharp and deadly as the finest sword

    At first the battles where easy
    But every new wave of enemies
    The battle became bloodier
    At the end of every day
    The 300 send the heads of the dead to their leader
    It was not anger that struck him
    But pure fear

    When strength didn't work for the god's soldiers
    They turned to Cursed Magic
    The magic users were quickly over come
    The 300 and the God came face to face
    The Lion of the 300bowed.
    But called for a solider to kill
    He threw a spear

    The spear grazed the God's cheek and drew blood
    Gods aren't suppose to bleed.
    The god called for his archers to kill the 300
    A black cloud of arrows came down
    Soldier after soldier fell to his glorious death
    The kings last words were "My queen, my love'
    The 300 died, but their courage is still known