every day i strap on my armour,
tighten the breast plate,
pull on my greaves,
and strap on the sword that kills so many,
everyday its this same routine,
get up put the armour on,
and go out to battle,
everyday its the same line up,
the same people at my side,
who scream the same war cry,
but i realise that now,
the war cries don't scare anyone,
the charging lines of men,
and the clashing of shields,
have become a chore not a deadly game of death,
i trade blows with men as if it were nothing,
i joke to my self thinking what a shame i just sliced his throat open,
but really if i hadn't he would have done the same to me,
but is that really the reason why i fight is it why i keep trading blows,
but i don't know anymore,
maybe on day ill forget to bring the shield,
then the armour and finally the sword,
its a losing battle,
a battle that isn't about swords and shields,
but emotions and words,
with a battle everyday to stay alive,
but it is a losing battle,
and each day i forget something everyday,
its a losing battle and i don't know how long i can hold the line.