Cast in iron,
We are wardogs
Fighting to a
Bitter end

Justifying a heinous
Means, we cook good
Hearts until they are
Nothing more than
Smooth ash

Eyes and souls at war,
We are fit for short
Lives and expire
Quickly in our youth

Fate demands we serve
And meet our demise
At the hands of those
Whom we look up at

Not because they are
Higher than us but
Because they sit on
Lofty stools