Here we wait
Scathed and forsaken, knealing in the softly mud.
We make no sound, but our anxiety flows like the blood from our wounds.
We grip our hatred, our fear, as we do our tools of war.
We are the wind before the storm,
The fade before the crescendo.
The silent song of war,
Forever sounds upon this ground,
This ground of Blood and dust and mud .
And then the rain begins,
A sign? An omen?
And with every solumn beat of our condemmed hearts,
Sounds the silent song.
We are the eve of battle
Here we wait.



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