HELMET ON, HEAD ON | Moebian Regiments | Warhammer 40K Inspired Music #sunoai

#Warhammer40K #Moebian #imperialguard Download from Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/thecollegeoflore/shop DriveThruRPG: https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/publi... Instagram: @dmitryryabchuk Redbubble: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Mech... Lyrics: From Atoma’s towers to the blackened rim, where charted stars grow cold and dim, the tithe bells toll, the troopships burn, another class will not return. Rocyria’s ranks, Branx Magna’s steel, Tertium teaches what fear can feel. They call us lasmen, numbers in line— hold the Fringe, one trench at a time. No one at home must know what we see. No one at home must know what we bleed. The vox says “victory.” The casualty roll keeps counting names that the hive never knows. Helmet on, head on—lock the line. Boot to deck and sight to sign. Dark beyond the boundary wall, Moebian blood will answer the call. Shield the Domain, whatever the cost. Mark the living. Count the lost. If the night comes crawling through— we are the wall it breaks against too. The 21st casts shields in the underhive glare, force-light funnels the foe to the square. Crossfire snaps through rust and steam; discipline turns panic into a killing machine. The Steelheads roll from Branx-born halls, fresh oath-metal under ancient walls. The 53rd comes with banners clean, to fight what the homeworld should never have seen. Helmet on, head on—lock the line. Boot to deck and sight to sign. Dark beyond the boundary wall, Moebian blood will answer the call. Shield the Domain, whatever the cost. Mark the living. Count the lost. If the night comes crawling through— we are the wall it breaks against too. But every wall remembers the hammer. Every veteran carries the Fringe. The Sixth came home with medals blackened, with something whispering under the skin. Heroes once—then rifles turned. Tertium watched its legends burn. So swear by the dead, by trench and scar: we do not become what hunts from afar. Armoured columns drink Atoma’s forge, Ogryns ride where the gunlines gorge. Snipers wait in the chemical rain, flamers cleanse the tunnel vein. Berets for shock troops, plates for the few, old kit patched where the rivets show through. Every regiment wears a different face, but the same command follows into space: Helmet on, head on—hold the line. Steel in step and soul in time. From hive-depth dark to the nameless stars, we carry home beneath our scars. No songs for glory. No easy end. Only the oath, the squad, the friend. The Fringe is wide. The watch is long. Moebian boots keep marching on. One world sleeps because another bleeds. One hive shines because the frontier feeds. Helmet on. Head on. March. Fan-made Warhammer 40K inspired music. The College of Lore is not affiliated with, endorsed by, or connected to D&D, Wizards of the Coast, Hasbro, Paizo, Games Workshop, Black Library, Warhammer, or any official Warhammer 40K property.