Sentries are on the bluff.
You would be wise to not be the last
Soldier in this line as we make our way through this brush.
How did we get so pinned down
to have to fight all and nothing at once?
Rot sets in from trenches dug with our cold, bare hands.
The rain's burning through the roof
made from lies a bullet can't touch and
brothers look in each other's eyes
for reasons to make the reasons just.
The ground never felt so cold
The barrels of our guns get too hot to hold;
we wouldn't dare put them down.
It's best that we don't stand up
in a war from which no one is exempt.
We were told before we left to repent.
I watched the smoke smother the lost politics
and fade away into the crisp, mourning air.
Centuries are in the dust.
We are no more wise to see through glass
Cases displaying the ways history had with us.
How did we get so pinned down?
Dying to fight & fighting to die?
Rotting in the trench that's dug, every time, by & by.
Memory is best kept short and sweet in a world that is quick to forget you.
