We risk our lives everyday
every time that we clock in,
it's our way of life and what we do
  its the way it's always been.
  
We wake at 3 am to bells ringing
and sirens blare,
we leap to our feet and go get dressed
to fight deep in Hells lair.

In the darkness we don our gear
******* helmet and boot,
as one these brothers all get up
go sliding down the chute.

We run to the truck now wide awake
and with ease we slide in,
we put on our headsets to hear each other all other noise becomes a low din.

We race to the scene where smoke is showing
no one knows who got out,
we put on our airpacks and our masks
to talk we must now shout.

With axe in hand we enter therein
the Devils home amidst the flame,
we quickly search for everyone
boy, girl, man and dame.

The air is hot we can feel it through
the clothe armor that we wear,
but on we search through the building
till we realize we're low on air.

Another​ crew goes in
In their hands the hose
To find the seat of the flames
It's advancement to oppose

We cut the roof we pull the ceiling
Our hands and feet lose all feeling

We find a child we cover them up
We rush back to the door
We bring them to safety and go back in
To check and search for more

For hours the cycle repeats
Till all is said and done
The fire is out, we've done our job
This time we won

No fire is left and all are safe
We put our tools and hose away
And go back to the station
Where hopefully we'll get to stay

Our gears been scrubbed
Time to rest our exhausted bodies

We wake at 8 am to bells ringing
and sirens blare,
we leap to our feet and go get dressed
to fight deep in Hells lair...

The wise know where a hero stands--
upon the shoulders of another man.
Or a woman. Truth be told,
there’s more to legends than what we’re sold.
There’s a legion behind every famous one:
Footsoldiers, workers, slogging from sun to sun.
They build the movement that changes history--
collective action—not Him; it’s We.
Or the art, or invention, of ground-breaking power,
from a  “genius” who above us does tower.
His inspiration is the work of others,
connected souls-- sisters and brothers.
Each weaves a strand of the magic thread.
From hundreds of others the genius is fed.
He finishes work with skillful design,
then sometimes falsely claims “it’s mine.”

You are as raisins you clean persons blood.

Life in full sprint high resolution and great details.

Once, grapes of green now a purplish black.

Your drees drapes the wooden floor white oak

Bravery is not a trait to be learned,
but a decision that's yet to be made.
When standing against overwhelming odds
there's good reason to be afraid,

but despair does not ensure cowardice
and adversity does not equal defeat.
Every man still has a fighting chance
as long as his heart still beats.

Be always valiant and forever fearless
against what others may forewarn,
because the decisions made amidst catastrophe
are also when heroes are born.

People should be a little bit brighter
A little bit happier, don't be a miser.

Why is everyone so quick to anger,
So scared of danger and sick on paper.
Get a life, learn to smile you fakers.
Nothing in this world is gonna make it safer.

Misery loves company trust me it's ugly.
They came to be lovely til their feelings need cuddling.
Coddling is more like it, insulating even.
They don't realize they're insinuating treason.

Inciting some violence by some violet snowflakes.
Protesting the silence with science and show dates.

Our heroes reborn, a new purpose and will.
All zeroes now scorned by the true service of skill.

the problem
with heroes
is that everyone thinks
they're perfect
until they're not.

its almost as if
people can't stand to deal
with the dark sides of people that exist*

nobody likes discovering
the skeletons that we keep
they'll tell you they care
that they'll always be there
that there's nothing
that could ever
change their mind
until something does

then suddenly
curtains are closed
all good that has once been done
disappears into smoke

people love to say
tell me the truth over a lie any day
but when truth comes knocking
*suddenly they're the ones running away

Heroes aren't perfect.
They are broken pieces placed together to form a beautiful mosaic and yet they don't give up.
Their heart hasn't always known the 'right' choice, for they too have felt anger, doubt, pain and in the midst of those negative emotions they choose happiness.
Heroes aren't fearless.
How do you think they became heroes? By facing their fears head on, looking them in the eye while saying, "you do not control me anymore."
Being fearless means that you have never loved anything so much that losing it could break you.
Heroes are brave.
For when the final battle comes, they look at the world with bloodstained teeth and tears behind their eyes with a crooked, sinister smile and say,
"is that all you got?"