Marching Song

In a wilderness of foggy thoughts
Battling with your minds retorts
And walking on empty plains
Where desert's so calm even drowning rains

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

Your feet's in earth, your boots are sinking
Sink with the memories of long lost thinking
And armies of many are fighting their fights
Lost in the blackness, they're 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
Our fragile companions are destined to fail
For this battalion has been run through
Therefore, captains and comrades, I bid you all adieu