no voices heard, no cries of pain; all has gone silent upon reality
the faces of men never met; games of power will always flare
dying cries of pain can now be heard; boots kick up blood and dirt
on the terrain of unknown land, on the terrain of unknown land born for d**h, pushing through the fields
born for d**h, pushing through the fields the numbness of the soul has to be, in order for the body to sustain
no time for thought; just to k**; the stains of reality keep it real
wishing for thoughts of retreat or return now very well seem absurd
bullets kick up blood and dirt, in heat or cold; snow or sand born for d**h, pushing through the fields
born for d**h, pushing through the fields