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Don’t be proud

If it was up to me

You’d all be wormfood

Six feet in the ground

Flaunting weapons

That neither function

Nor have tasted men’s blood

It is befitting you cannot use them

Miswording failures in the pouring rain

They are the future’s tombstones

It’s the price that they pay for greatness

The great lie that they stubbornly believe

They are notional heroes

They never did what they’re sung for

They are the wasted heroes

On which I turn my back

I turned my back

And walked away

It says your name

The day

A glory hound with accolades

On a stone above your grave

But only guns have seen

The errors that you proudly made

The impotence you never had to show

Don’t be pathetic

Attention only works

If you respect

The people it comes from

You weren’t there

You’re not prepared

To see what you vainly had to practice for

Brainwashed and led to defeat

They are the future’s tombstones

But they’re too desperate to think on their own

To see that there’s no glory in death

They are embellished heroes

They believe what they were told to believe

They are the virgin heroes

On which I turn my back

I turned my back

To reap what I came for