Marching Song

In a wilderness of foggy thoughts

Battling with your minds retorts

And walking on empty plains

Where desert's so calm even drowning rainsSoldier on to this marching song

Head held high with eyes fixed strong

Dropping thud, cymbal crash down

The mud, it is thick with desires to drownYour feet's in earth, your boots are sinking

Sink with the memories of long lost thinking

And armies of many are fighting their fights

Lost in the blackness, they're losing their sightsYour veins are my trenches, my gun is my own

The whispers fall heavy with delicate moans