Soldier boy, where would you go without fear?
Without consequences that associate
reason with resurrection by your mere
faith that you're born to die and aggregate?
Master of your destiny will always cry
hoarse at you screaming loud in your own brain
"Pride in death!" Corpses lined up, left to dry;
you’re dead already, cannot die again.
They’ll store you locked in prisons of your mind,
puppets shall dance with all your strings attached,
never to think off strings, never to find;
forever paw the door that you have latched.
Hungry heroes, killing fields, toys to play;
soldier boys will always do what I say!
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