A dead man marches to the bang of a drum but he does not know why, he marches in lines on a land unknown surrounded yet feeling alone, the man marches in ranks of thousands strong yet their corpses lie rotting and rank, their boots march still to the sting of a whip, the written poison of cowards and sheep, as the corpses of boys march on in a thunder of feet old men sleep sheltered at home.

Lying in wait, Waiting forever, for what shall not come, Lying to itself, Convinced its efforts shall not be in vain, Eyes like fractured quarts, Praying for the sun to light its way again, Dark tendrils, Breaking and twisting, Cracks once thought beautiful, Darkened, Warped, Poluted, A once free King now chained, rotting, and collared.

Caged and prodded, Scared as he is left in the dark, Shamed and cowed into submission, Bounce, Bounce, Bounce, Be a good boy and you’ll get a treat, Disobey and be taken from light, Forget about hope and home, Accept what we want you to be, We want you to find happiness in your own fright.