War. Explosive conflict in times of subtle peace.
Of guts and glory, testament of the brave;
Of bullets and bombs, the madmen's toys
Of Spartans and spies, the light and darkness
Of pretense and problems, the knots that no one can undo;
Or of delusion and destruction, the devil's game?
Gone are the times of untimely serenity
Of the ages that fed us well
The ages of my innocence and unknowing
The time that had not been hell
Which gave birth to new horizons
And set our sights on the beyond
"What does war yield?" the shattered souls inquire
Faithful to the planets that have for so long inspired
Now lying in ruins, society crumbling into nonexistence
"Dust and echoes," comes the hallowing reply,
"and the Spartan's longing for his long-lost squad."
A lingering conclusion to an unfinished story.
How the heroes of calamity long to return;
Stripping off stars and bars as though they were riffraff
Chucking away plaques and medallions as refuse
To the time where we could laugh, play and sing once more
Reunited, at last, with blood brothers and sisters
Where the birds fly unburdened, happy and carefree
And the Sun shines brightly, unhindered
Where the land rings about the tune of pleasant aubades
And the musicians no longer sound the bugles for the fallen
However, our quarry is still out there;
And our guns are still loaded
Our knives crave for flesh blood;
As the plasma goes zinging above our helmets
We know that this fight has yet to reach a closure
Our service still needed, and orders are still orders
We will follow the brass to the deepest bowels of hell
To regain our humanity's honor.
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