| Cuddled through a cold womb he was
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| Pitch black and without sunshine rays
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| Hell patiently awaiting him on blood spilled soil
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| A noble grief stirred heart, always ready to die
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| In sinister systematisation, submission is golden
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| As an apprentice to violence, slaughter and bloodshed
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| He was like an object that is being processed
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| A force-fed destructor ready for abomination
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| The vast solitude in him witnessed it all
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| Those self afflicting eyes
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| And their fear painted faces
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| Made out of utter discipline, failure unacceptable
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| Hosts to oblivion
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| Exploring the darkest of places
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| Stench of rotten flesh breathing down his neck
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| Every day seemed like an endless night
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| When would he ever wake from this void
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| No other voice than his own will ever tell
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| What was real and where he had been
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| What he had done
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| Did you bleed for the cause
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| Like the rest of his men
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| Did you capture the euphoria
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| How it was like to kill
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| Such a necromantic force behind it all
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| They sure did battle till the end
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| But when came all the glory
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| And who got spared to carry his body
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| Just pure death and too profound to be shared
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| Was it all a fabricated vision in his memory
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| To serve the wastelands of insanity
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| At the front
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| Life forever lost it’s innocence
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| Never to see the light of day again
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| He pondered his last few steps
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| Into the realms of death
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| With his hands bloodstained
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| Courage and consistency
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| Bravery and valor
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| Honor and pride
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| For what was it all worth |