LAST CYCLE © 2008
Where is the pleasure in sweating with a gun in hand?
If you still have a soul, fire a shot into the ground.
For, in that moment of rage and blindness,
You might kill a child, not knowing it's the flag.
And living, you will not live, with that endless pain,
The deep damage that consumes you in the end.
In those mountains, where you think yourself strong,
There is no glory in the bullet, only cold death.
Weapons bring no feats, nor power,
Only empty bodies that you leave to decay.
Gutted, soulless, corpses on the ground,
Where life has lost all its heart.