I wonder the frontier,
Its veneer polished with insides out,
Harrowed are the hollow words whispered out of chapped lips.
Death rattles its bell, dragging those to hell who did not mention it in the time before. The four four beat, once in my chest now in my ears.

A time before is what put me here. Here, governed by the choices of the dead, the weight of history bares nothing but misery. My mystery of free choice leaves me but with one. To wonder the mind or to wander the dirt. Both will hurt and all will desert, leaving but more weight on those whom wait to blossom out of the manure of such a petty lure.

Remembered in great cruelty, cast in chaste, bronze and steel, steals the truth at the root of all pain. You can turn the leaf, but the roots under your feet will only continue to grow. Dig deeper, cut the strings and pluck a new melody. Forget our wars as glorious and paint them as deplorable.

Who will be left to applaud the frontier but the clapping of crow's wings, when they peck at your last fibre...