Sentries are on the bluff.
You would not be wise to be the last soldier in this line
as we make our move through this brush.
How did we get so pinned down to have to fight all and nothing at once?
Rot sets in from trenches dug with our cold, bare hands.

The rain’s burning through the roof made from lies a bullet can’t touch
and brothers look in each other's eyes for reasons to make the reasons just.
The ground never felt so cold.
The barrels of our guns get too hot to hold; we wouldn't dare put them down.
It's best that we don't stand up in a war from which no one is exempt.
We were told before we left to repent.
I watched the smoke smother the lost politics and fade away into the crisp, mourning air.

Centuries are in the dust.
We are no more wise to see through glass cases displaying the ways history had with us.
How did we get so pinned down?
Dying to fight & fighting to die.
Rotting in the trench that’s dug, every time, by & by.

Memory is best kept short and sweet in a world that is quick to forget you.