The bitter word we are all forced into.
Defining us to be something of a soldier
Bred to stand tall, proud of what we’re becoming
Self righteous machines on top of the pile,
Made of broken homes and defeated souls.
All resistance died out, flushed from our bodies.
Leaving nothing but empty shells of what we once were
This new dawn, skies glowing red of the blood shed.
So far from home, but leaving us still with the image.
Force out the sympathies of a orphaned child,
Holding onto the hand of what once was human,
Now just a symbol for another cleansing
Taking away any chance for the future.
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