Do they cry for me,
As I cry for them?
As the desert breeze lulls me to sleep?
And as I walk along this stormy beach,
Do they send a boat to rescue me?
Waves crest upon the shore,
In a seductive dance of chance,
And the sun that beams,
A subtle dream,
Lights the rhythm of war dance.
What say to me,
That hasn’t already been said?
For heroes blood has been shed,
So injudicious fears could be fed.
Honor becomes the triumph of the dead,
As consummation becomes the burden of the led.
So what becomes of me?
A shell from my innocent self?
A departing tide from my farewells?
An archive for the glamour of war I dispel?
For war grips tighter,
With every pass day.
And as my silent scars become my portrayal,
Will my steps become my pursuing betrayal?

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