Warring Peace

Save another teardrop.
The war's not over yet.
There's always one more try,
And we'll march with our flags held up high.

But you could find your way out,
Just leave our men behind.
You can turn a blind eye,
The left turn turns out right.
Run to live a lie,
Or you could march with our flags held up high.

The wounded soldier on,
They have stood their ground.
Their blood will never dry,
They still march with our flags held up high.

But time after time,
The truth is in their lies.
What's the point in our fight?
The footprints left behind
Will lead us to a time,
When we had marched with our flags held up high.

The poetic victory

Slow poachers down the wing,

The road is empty.
Jugglers join the pack,
The road, still empty.

We sink in the green sea,
Yet nothing seems lost.
There is never any fear,
Because nothing's ever lost.

We fight our own shadows,
With a sane logic to win.
The shadows fight back,
Everyone is there to win.

The gallery vibrate with beats,
With synchronised unity.
Waves resonate with frolic,
Even so with hostility.

Time ushers in the suspense.
There is always an end.
No withdrawal, even in pain;
Our territory, we will defend.

Yesterday cannot tame us,
We leave our history at bay.
Today we fight and fall;
To rise - come what may.

Slow poachers down the wing,
The road seemed empty.
An organised tactic perfectioned,
..we escaped with victory.