Tell me that’s the smell of earth after the rain,
Tell me those water drops are not in vain,
If this war doesn’t leave those eaten alive,
peacefully sleeping in blood beds of five.
One for the enemy, one for a friend,
One for a hopeless dream they can’t defend,
One for the future that doesn’t exist anymore,
and one last one for the love they could have adored.
This war is a cycle of pain,
a cycle of painful losing and disdain,
a place and a memory of hate and shame,
in a time were every soul is immersed in it’s vain.
My eyes burn, My eyes scream,
My tongue tied, In words I can’t possibly mean,
death to all, I tell my enemies brave,
but deep down in my veins, I don’t want to be their slave.
so…I ..March…on….

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