Rising from the grave,
through the paths of despair.
Holding the barrel high,
and burying the nobble low.
Sounds of war, rhythms of emptiness
Bombs, Guns, and riffles
the same blood flowing
Pride, pain, and passion
the same hearts beating
and there they go again!
But from sunrise to sunset,
healing from ailing
from darkness to light
distinguishing thinking from wishing
rising above pride; shifting the horizon.
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