would starlight look better through smoke:
a silver fog of fazed romance?
would flames still burn in hearts of men
if tongues of flames refused to dance?

if glories had been ill-acquired,
would victors have the battle won?
or would they melt like villains do
beneath daylight of pious Sun?

had everything that ever was
been ghastly bones of old defeat,
would everything that is to be
be like the deathbed, on repeat?

you'll never know what's made for you,
we'll never see what we've become
and each sharp cry that ever was
rings blended in a fading hum

if life's a song, then death's the beat
the pulse that we mistake for living
and each advance and each retreat
is punishment that keeps on giving

the darkest wrong to taint the right
the brightest deed shrouded in grief
we never knew when we were here
that gone would grant us sweet relief