I burn the midnight oil I eat the midday heat I choose to be the whipping boy I let someone else take my seat
They gather, their knives aren't hidden They line up, fighting for the rotten crown They kneel before the mindless routine They don’t think twice about bowing down
We tried, but man it’s hard We had ideals, 10 years in are they still ours? We made our own path, for sure…but at what cost? We didn’t win, our lives were suffering,
But at least we lived Our death means something.
9 months complete. heading back to the warzone in january, to the land of unjacketed rounds in ak-47's, child soldiers, heartless brutality, hopeless poverty. we go armed only with the unconditional love pouring through lives that are no longer our own [ 1 John 4:18]