They promised us a holy war,
They promised us a fight.
They promised us we’d die in battle,
Why couldn’t they have been right.

Gifted with no parachute,
We’ll continue our commute.
Fear of being destitute,
A suit for the resolute.

Shattered glass,
The lot’s been cast.
How that chill,
Can slowly kill.

The forest calls,
To gods and dolls.
Backwoods trail,
The voices pale.

Brings imagination.
Fixation on frustration,
A foundation of damnation.

Where it ends,
All depends,
Where it began,
Determines the man.

A beautiful start,
Sets you apart.
Our broken beginnings,
Promises our endings.

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