Words

Tomorrow is another day,

To some it's another year,

The streets are flooded with petty talks,

The revolution of the resolution,

The words spoken ought to be soldiers,

But they aren't even worthy of been called a cadet,

So they dance and merry forgetting they ought to manifest,

But how can they manifest when they're a manifestation of a drunkard?

Though some soldiers still match the streets,
The unbalanced ratio is as vivid as the sun on a sunny day,

Today I speak no word cause my soldiers aren't fighters,

The war within fashions them so you can tell of what strain from a far,

On this day, the decayed words comes alive,
To manifest the manifestation of their existence,

Tomorrow all dead soldiers shall rise to a new decade, that they might not be decayed no more.