Armies roam from countries without name intoxicated from hexen and strangled with furious visions they
     are fated to bring into fruition.

Diseased, deformed and locked to a sole lover
Who's kisses are like a rat's dying twitch
He must swallow each one fruitless like the only remaining food left. "I'll see your bed kept clean"
She says clutching her scarf to her throat
'I'll even leave the richest flowers at your head."
And as he let the door fall behind him atlast he finally responded to his wife of many years
"I will not return."  in a tone so unrecognisable to her it froze her cold,
You see, that was how his voice sounded when he told the truth.

And as wandered the road each step bringing him closer to joining his men
One thought rang like a bell looping throughout his head:
Love is many things, a refrigerated bigmac is not one of them.