Climbing mountains of hope,
riding treacherous stormy seas,
they cross sun-drenched deserts.
With riotous rifles, they fly with dark angelic wings
slicing through clouds crying memories.

They are the young bloods, the pawns of the brokers,
some laden with modern death-technologies,
others carry improvised implements,
dazzling flowers swirl in their eyes,
holding torches held high,
onward soldiers they cry
to the victorious victory!

In all seasons,
they breathe strongly,
moving to better futures,
creating new worlds,
flowing into silent landscapes,
penetrating the watchtowers
of their enemies.