Few know the true lined face of mars To charge across the desolation Bayonets fixed for close quorter... Sawbacks gleam red perspiration Who among us would dare... Dare to walk the killing fields? The heather that drank the blood of our fathers And bled from trenches... slashed... By what authority are we granted peace? Over dead bodies of the more worthy More worthy than we Like the moth, we serve the light blindly Ever colliding with another servant Capitulation, resignation The rot seeps everywhere Unstemmed tide of ruin Entropy gathers and engulfs instead Few know the true lined face of mars But the lessons of the learned Drawn from killing and burning fields Offer a tourniquet to staunch the flow But we'd rather stand and bleat Flashes of the storm our only light Perhaps it's time to burn again