We've been sitting in the fence for far to long. Cold and tired we are.
Why we cannot run? Or at least get a glimpse of the mayor war? Here all what we see is the shatters of our former hope.
We want something more rewarding. They will forget us. Do you think our people will receive us cheering and applauding? We've been here while their brothers and sons are out there, dying.
Nothing is going to get better. The rain will keep pouring down in this everlasting fake dawn. The sake of our battle-brothers matter more than this pile of bricks we're guarding.
The waiting is getting us mad. It tears our soul into pieces. But it won't make us lose our courage, because we shall know no fear.
Drop by drop this rain erase our feelings, like water eats the stone. Soon we will only feel the cold of our wet clothes.
Far by the horizon you may see some explosions burning the sky, like heralds of the real storm that is yet to come.
Nobody can truly understand what hour is, no one, but we, the lost and the damned. We might live, and return home, but people will close their eyes. They will ask us what happened, how it all began. We won't answer, because they will not understand. We won't see thousands of millions crying for the mankind.
We won't find rest ever again. We're the hunted hunters, and we'll be forever. Our wounds may be cured, but our souls will never be whole again.
How can anybody understand why he should die? We know our names won't mean nothing ten minutes after we're dead. If we die what will be our reward?
We cannot stop our great self destruction, and we'll die, although we don't want to.
They don't understand that to conquer death you only have to die.
And they shall come. And we'll forget all about this, and just shout:
Let's do this!
