...we colud see in the distance hundreds of men.
their campsite illuminated by skin bound to stick.
Like scarecrows: too tired to dance
Too ashamed to look up
Taunted by their shadows
Their empty stares licked at your back
But at your parade we saw you stand tall
Oh beautiful one mother sheds a tear
If only we could reach such heights
We are dogs at our waist
This is my love we hear you say
This is my strength
we catch your spit our lips shine prepared to sing your praises
You lose your tounge at the scent of burning flesh
And your mouth was so proud of your existence
I guess you wont be coming home a martyr...
