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Post by rebel! on May 19, 2009 18:34:22 GMT -5
guns in hand, they march to the beat of the drums saw your carving on the granite arch and you left those crumbs
and the enemy is in sight bullets fly like maddened bees and here in the fight I can't help but think: he's...
around me, blood bright and harsh, it hurts the dirt's turning into mud with the scarlet wash
-- rebel!
this poem was written with the power of love in mind - even as your comrades fall, you can't help but think about the one, and even as you're injured, you're thinking about what your love would do in this situation.
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