Marching Song

In a wilderness of foggy thoughts
Battling with your mind's retorts
Walking on empty plains
Where deserts soak up even drowning rains

Soldier on, to this marching song
Head held high, with eyes fixed strong
Drum beat thud, cymbal crash down
The mud, it is thick with desires to drown

Your feet in earth, your boots are sinking
Sick with the memories of long lost thinking
Armies of many are fighting their fights
Lost in the blackness, their losing their sights

Your veins are my trenches, my gun is my own
The whispers fall heavy with delicate moans

Arms and legs, teeth and nail
Are fragile companions that are destined to fail
For this battalion has been run through
Therefore captains and comrades
I bid you all adieu