I do not want to move. I have nothing left but the rag tied around your waist and the ash in my eyes. We are not afraid to die. We hold guns and call ourselves angels of mercy but we will die fighting for Him. One by one we let the silver fly and it crashes through the walls and the children scream and the voices outside say it is nothing but how can that be?
We will die for him.
We have all been blind. He is the one who warned us and nobody else would listen. Here it comes again with the silver and the scars and the blood running down the rivers until there is nothing left but the bleeding land.
They fight us with noise and smoke and empty words that mean nothing nothing nothing.
What about the women? There are women and children here.
But they do not want to leave.
There is nothing left to do here.
The smoke fills the rooms and threads through the holes in the walls until there is nothing but a gray sheet of violence and hate and understanding.
In the end...we do not really need to see what's in front of us.
it is remotely what is behind us that defines the strength of our end.
You first.
We can end together.
Hold my hand, my child.