Marching Song

In a wilderness of foggy thoughts
Battling with your minds retorts
And walking on empty plains
Where desert's so calm even drowning rainsSoldier on to this marching song
Head held high with eyes fixed strong
Dropping thud, cymbal crash down
The mud, it is thick with desires to drownYour feet's in earth, your boots are sinking
Sink with the memories of long lost thinking
And armies of many are fighting their fights
Lost in the blackness, they're losing their sightsYour veins are my trenches, my gun is my own
The whispers fall heavy with delicate moans