...we colud see in the distance hundreds of men.

their campsite illuminated by skin bound to stick.

Like scarecrows: too tired to dance

Too ashamed to look up

Taunted by their shadows

Their empty stares licked at your back

But at your parade we saw you stand tall

Oh beautiful one mother sheds a tear

If only we could reach such heights

We are dogs at our waist

This is my love we hear you say

This is my strength

we catch your spit our lips shine prepared to sing your praises

You lose your tounge at the scent of burning flesh

And your mouth was so proud of your existence

I guess you wont be coming home a martyr...