Marching

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Step on the field Adrenaline rushes The announcer begins The crowd quickly hushes The music begins Perhaps a simple note Left foot first Listen back to percussion Stay in line
Here I stand. Only to be moved by a sturdy hand. A force, a revolution. Making us change, evolution. Here I stand with others. Against the words and hatred of our brothers.
We are told that what we do is not a sport We are told that we are not athletes Yet we are the ones that spend hundreds of hours working Yet we are the ones that are sweating, sun burt and tired
Stiff, rigid stance I hold.
There is nothing we can do now. For we are in front of the silent crowd. The wind whistled and howled, as we stood still and proud. Until our name was called we stood nice and tall. Everyone would cheer, though it was hard to hear.
Morning, afternoon, night I walk in The white tiled floors, covered in spit, and dust, and never cleaned quite right. The walls literally filled with pictures of band kids past.
Pushing, dragging, feet on fire On through the dirt, On through the hoses, On through the heat. Words push us. Songs stir us. History fuels us. On through muddied, bloodied streets.
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