The fire, the blood. It all seemed like a waste of a fight,
until you look to see your best friend beside you, still as a star during the night.
The remembrance, the remorse. The memory of your companion that was left to suffer,
waiting to discover your own fate, but needing time to recover.
The fury, the rage. Anger in the blue eyes of purity,
because this is no Heaven but the arena of Hell's insecurity.
The sorrow, the pain. Thinking as you mourn for a friend's immortality,
because suddenly you see yourself as the fatality.
The return, the vengeance. You try to avenge their death but only find no self control,
you look for hope in the form of a weapon, killing everyone, like you have no body or soul.
Finally the sun rises, dawn anew,
and this massacre has become more than just reminiscences of a journey you went through.
It is a separate life, most people will never see,
but the true heroes of this world have gone through the torment, they pay their own life as their fee.
The new chapter, the old story. Those who survive are reborn and grow like a virgin tree,
because the true history lies in the circular roots that are hidden and not easily seen.
The hero, the veteran. A footstep is the soldier's mark from a worrisome walk well-known,
because it tells the story of his everlasting journey all
alone.