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Nothing lay in front of him,
And nothing stood behind.
All around, empty land, hot and dry and dead.
But he walked, still walked on.
Towards the ever-setting sun.
Stuck in time, his mind behind.
Screaming at the gun.
The iron wall looms, a block in his head.
The blood, the brains,
The scores of the dead.
Bullets for masses, execution for the few,
Rape and torture for the children, swaying the curfew.
Knives and axes, hammer blows.
Whirling winds and knee-deep snows.
Yet not a scratch on the iron wall,
Deep and thick, deathly, tall.
Still he stumbles through the desert,
Dying as he walks,
The cracked ground moans,
The lonely sandstorm talks.
But the mind sees nothing,
The torn ear falls deaf.
No tastes in his mouth, save the blood and the death.
Soul shouts the sins of the past.
Death ship nails a head to the mast.
There, at his feet, a rusted shard,
Iron wall fallen, skull shattered hard.
A trail in the dirt, shards to the sun,
Now he knows from where he has come.
Swirling winds and knee-deep snow,
He doesn’t know which way to go.
Kneeling he plucks the shard from the sand,
Rusted razor cuts through his hand.
The mind makes patterns he can’t understand.
Iron wall holds the fate of the damned.
Sunlight glinting from pain-rent tears,
Pale young arms knit back through the years.
Dominance, cruel,
Hard life grows.
One wall, one pain.
And now he knows.
And nothing stood behind.
All around, empty land, hot and dry and dead.
But he walked, still walked on.
Towards the ever-setting sun.
Stuck in time, his mind behind.
Screaming at the gun.
The iron wall looms, a block in his head.
The blood, the brains,
The scores of the dead.
Bullets for masses, execution for the few,
Rape and torture for the children, swaying the curfew.
Knives and axes, hammer blows.
Whirling winds and knee-deep snows.
Yet not a scratch on the iron wall,
Deep and thick, deathly, tall.
Still he stumbles through the desert,
Dying as he walks,
The cracked ground moans,
The lonely sandstorm talks.
But the mind sees nothing,
The torn ear falls deaf.
No tastes in his mouth, save the blood and the death.
Soul shouts the sins of the past.
Death ship nails a head to the mast.
There, at his feet, a rusted shard,
Iron wall fallen, skull shattered hard.
A trail in the dirt, shards to the sun,
Now he knows from where he has come.
Swirling winds and knee-deep snow,
He doesn’t know which way to go.
Kneeling he plucks the shard from the sand,
Rusted razor cuts through his hand.
The mind makes patterns he can’t understand.
Iron wall holds the fate of the damned.
Sunlight glinting from pain-rent tears,
Pale young arms knit back through the years.
Dominance, cruel,
Hard life grows.
One wall, one pain.
And now he knows.
Cheers.
This is amongt one of my favorite bits I've done. It even decided to rhyme itself, although that wasn't the intention.
This is amongt one of my favorite bits I've done. It even decided to rhyme itself, although that wasn't the intention.
Black Glove wrote:
> Neat. Like a saw's teeth going through a fresh piece of wood.
Yeh, someones been drinking...!
> Neat. Like a saw's teeth going through a fresh piece of wood.
Yeh, someones been drinking...!
I like it. Definetly the bit about the death ship.
Neat. Like a saw's teeth going through a fresh piece of wood.
Nothing lay in front of him,
And nothing stood behind.
All around, empty land, hot and dry and dead.
But he walked, still walked on.
Towards the ever-setting sun.
Stuck in time, his mind behind.
Screaming at the gun.
The iron wall looms, a block in his head.
The blood, the brains,
The scores of the dead.
Bullets for masses, execution for the few,
Rape and torture for the children, swaying the curfew.
Knives and axes, hammer blows.
Whirling winds and knee-deep snows.
Yet not a scratch on the iron wall,
Deep and thick, deathly, tall.
Still he stumbles through the desert,
Dying as he walks,
The cracked ground moans,
The lonely sandstorm talks.
But the mind sees nothing,
The torn ear falls deaf.
No tastes in his mouth, save the blood and the death.
Soul shouts the sins of the past.
Death ship nails a head to the mast.
There, at his feet, a rusted shard,
Iron wall fallen, skull shattered hard.
A trail in the dirt, shards to the sun,
Now he knows from where he has come.
Swirling winds and knee-deep snow,
He doesn’t know which way to go.
Kneeling he plucks the shard from the sand,
Rusted razor cuts through his hand.
The mind makes patterns he can’t understand.
Iron wall holds the fate of the damned.
Sunlight glinting from pain-rent tears,
Pale young arms knit back through the years.
Dominance, cruel,
Hard life grows.
One wall, one pain.
And now he knows.
And nothing stood behind.
All around, empty land, hot and dry and dead.
But he walked, still walked on.
Towards the ever-setting sun.
Stuck in time, his mind behind.
Screaming at the gun.
The iron wall looms, a block in his head.
The blood, the brains,
The scores of the dead.
Bullets for masses, execution for the few,
Rape and torture for the children, swaying the curfew.
Knives and axes, hammer blows.
Whirling winds and knee-deep snows.
Yet not a scratch on the iron wall,
Deep and thick, deathly, tall.
Still he stumbles through the desert,
Dying as he walks,
The cracked ground moans,
The lonely sandstorm talks.
But the mind sees nothing,
The torn ear falls deaf.
No tastes in his mouth, save the blood and the death.
Soul shouts the sins of the past.
Death ship nails a head to the mast.
There, at his feet, a rusted shard,
Iron wall fallen, skull shattered hard.
A trail in the dirt, shards to the sun,
Now he knows from where he has come.
Swirling winds and knee-deep snow,
He doesn’t know which way to go.
Kneeling he plucks the shard from the sand,
Rusted razor cuts through his hand.
The mind makes patterns he can’t understand.
Iron wall holds the fate of the damned.
Sunlight glinting from pain-rent tears,
Pale young arms knit back through the years.
Dominance, cruel,
Hard life grows.
One wall, one pain.
And now he knows.