Each person to their own respected places
Admiral, Corporal, Private, Soldier, Wannabe
Each person battling their own individual war
Like him, tucked in bed, laying awake is his war.
While hers is equal to his.
Hers is words, they bounce off her. Making that her war.
A drop of milk sitting on the counter is his struggle.
And a ******* becomes her struggle.
Life...
It's composed of all these little wars.
Being taken down individually by the recognition of thousands
Trying to gain independence from chains.
Chip and crack a link every second of every day.
Numbers will always be their own war,
And racquets and ***** will be her war.
Focusing forms his never ending fight
And the same goes for speaking with her.
Each person to their own respected places
Admiral, Corporal, Private, Soldier, Wannabe
Breathing heavy just by walking turns to be his battle
To her, sticks and stones will be an uphill struggle.
But to each their own destination.
Coming To Be Victorious they shall all be.