I never made a way out of hell
neither did I come from sub-sections of hatred
the blossoms are too rigid
the night cries blood, what if I am just a stranger?
...
Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant;
Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant;
Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant.
Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion;
A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration;
A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion.