It’s into a world of hurt we waken every morn,
to the time we go to dirt, from the moment born.
Screaming out into the light until our silent getaway,
wending way through war and fight, dark of night and blast of day.
Life is but a battleground, endless maps of conflagration,
blood its color, death its sound, nation pitted versus nation.
For the few there are good gods who baffle all this pain.
But none of us can beat the odds and in this world remain.