Marching Song

In a wilderness of foggy thoughts
Battling, with your minds retorts
Walking on empty plains
Where deserts soak up
Even drowning rains

Soldier on to this
Marching song
Head held high
With eyes fixed strong

Drum beat thud
Cymbal crash down
The mud it is thick
With desires to drown
Your feet in earth

Your boots are sinking
Sick with the memory
Of long lost thinking

And armies of many
Are fighting their fights
Lost in the blackness
They're losing their sights

Your veins are my trenches
My gun is my own
The whispers fall heavy
With delicate moans

Arms and legs
Teeth and nail
Our fragile companions
Are destined to fail

For this battalion
Has been run through
Therefore captains
And comrades
I bid you all adieu