I burn the midnight oil
I eat the midday heat
I choose to be the whipping boy
I let someone else take my seat
They gather, their knives aren't hidden
They line up, fighting for the rotten crown
They kneel before the mindless routine
They don’t think twice about bowing down
We tried, but man it’s hard
We had ideals, 10 years in are they still ours?
We made our own path, for sure…but at what cost?
We didn’t win, our lives were suffering,
But at least we lived
Our death means something.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
I burn the midnight oil
I eat the midday heat
I choose to be the whipping boy
I let someone else take my seat
They gather, their knives aren't hidden
They line up, fighting for the rotten crown
They kneel before the mindless routine
They don’t think twice about bowing down
We tried, but man it’s hard
We had ideals, 10 years in are they still ours?
We made our own path, for sure…but at what cost?
We didn’t win, our lives were suffering,
But at least we lived
Our death means something.
9 months complete. heading back to the warzone in january, to the land of unjacketed rounds in ak-47's, child soldiers, heartless brutality, hopeless poverty. we go armed only with the unconditional love pouring through lives that are no longer our own [ 1 John 4:18]
