Tin-tainted traces of sound depart this tongue
and as with all men being, it is sparseness
which may bear the weight
and as good as guns are for shooting humans
as he remarked
is there no effort to be made on a trip undertaken alone
And as much as the wind may howl through a hollow casing
there lies a grace in the extraction of the force it may bring
the essence, it was his to channel
and channel he did
They spoke that a great truth lies buried in the trenches of france
the one that ended in the incompatibility of man and the fight
but was it not the marksman, the ever-watchful eye
who told a better one with but the rifle he takes along?
The one that a self-shackled hand was led astray by
the one that knew not of the teachings of or days
and only therefore bore the truest knowledge
of right and wrong
Simple marksman in the pines, lay not down to rest,
these woods are for the living, and the earth is yours to take