Master Plan (W/ Spoken Word)

Warriors line the battle front, those are pawns we boast upon
Each plays a role and knows most will be ghosts at dawn

Two armies stand adorned on opposite ends of a field
No families plan to mourn, these men were sent to be killed
Mentally skilled, only the most deft survive the battle
Once you're outnumbered all you can do is try to scramble
But for now it seems to be that they're evenly matched
Hard to imagine these veterans will even be scratched
One side, black armor, they lack doctors but have honor
One side, white armor, fight harder, outright chargers
Donning helmets, grieves, fresh from velvet sheathes
Slay infidels to hell until no zealot breathes

The front line is peasants, lower class, common, truth is
They'll be sacrificed aimlessly, honestly, useless
Behind, we find two siege towers that bleed power
Anyone seeing these upon the battlefield need cower
Knights file in, mounting brave war horses bred from bloodshed
While the preachers praise deities and prevent the undead
The queen herself, an assassin with magical movement,
Take her down to shake the crown in practical movement
A tactical unit plus royalty, a key target
Left unchecked, armies are buried in the corpses she harvests
And lastly, the general, commander, the king
Morale held afloat by the temporal candor he brings

As war approaches a hush falls, complete silence
The vessels need pilots, wait for their gods' discrete guidance
Then it happens, one soldier charges with a battle cry
And each combatant knows it'll show who had to die
In moments, swords crash, lords thrash, the clanking of armor
Opponents cries cross, lives lost, the changing of ardor
Brave soldiers stay loners to save others, playing the martyr
Back, forward, lack borders, attacks orders, straining to barter
Subtle veins from muscle strains, struggle reigns, whose training was harder?
Hustle drains, knuckle pains, puzzled brains, who's making it farther?
Poor packs of peons pushed aside though plenty earned valor
Dead horses, burned towers, red forests, plans turned sour
Corpses are carried off the field in divine accordance
Men find their fortunes or are left to die as orphans
White suffers heavy casualty, losing forces rapidly
Yet no agony, the nature of war forces apathy
The white queen is left unguarded, enemies close in
Out of element, open, her regiment frozen
An opposing knight swings his sword across her throat
She collapses without vocalizing an awful note
With this move black hopes to bring an opening
But hubris in strategy is such a broken thing
White serf slides solemnly, dagger to the black king's neck
No clean check, the king sidesteps into an unseen threat
Bishops move into position, the ruler is trapped
The loser aghast, clock ticked but he lost sooner than that
Giving him second place in the tournament final,
Small mistakes and quick trickery turning it vital
The queen's death was a ploy, she had only been bait
It was all part of the chess master's plan. Checkmate.