The opera of sorrow screams in the wind
our troops pull away, and at last come home
these guardians of the fractured kind, splinter
and will leave you to piece yourself together

Task in unbridled hot and cold
it is rather late to tell you all
barren lands of empty words
yet you are full of profitable lies

This is my reward for my honour
well did not expect much more
for you're kind are not mine
all I did was try to help


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris