Alea Iacta Est

He stood at the bank of the red river.
Behind him marched more than five thousand grizzled veterans.
In front of him stood the regal city of the seven hills.

How long has it already been, years?
After all the things he made his men do,
They deserved this rest, go back to their farms

See their children, a little grown,
Who before they left dangled upon their knee
And hold their wives, the love of their youths

But not yet. They will cross, they will march
And draw sword upon their own countrymen
More blood must be spilled before peace is secured.

He let the soil fall through his fingers,
Home, home at last, and yet I bring the fire and sword.
Flee, Pompey, before my Thirteenth.

I regret I cannot bring more men,
But this is what I have, and all I need.
Alea Iacta Est, for the die has been cast.

His men cheered, and the horses surged forward
The future godking looked into the distant shore
And Caesar crossed the Rubicon.