...we could see in the distance hundreds of men. Their campsite illuminated by skin bound to stick. Like scarecrows: too tired to dance Too ashamed to look up Taunted by their shadows Their empty stares licked at your back But at your parade we saw you stand tall "Oh beautiful one" mother sheds a tear "If only we could reach such heights" We are dogs at your waist "This is my love" we hear you say "This is my strength" we catch your spit our lips shine prepared to sing your praises You lose your tongue at the scent of burning flesh And your mouth was so proud of your existence I guess you wont be coming home a martyr...