The great betrayal of a horrid tyranny,
cold and double faced. The ponderous crush
of the unwieldy jackboot, the vacancy of heart.
Blinded to affliction and cruel throughout
jealous ignorance, swines with ulterior ambition
constantly plotting, to the utmost; The Back Dagger Treason.
Uproarious protest muted through loyalty,
the field marshal’s heart, heavy as the hooded blade,
falls ominously down, severing his protest.
Glorious cannons have fallen silent now, fire
extinguished, devotion invalidated, trust, obliterated.
Flanking manoeuvre complete, the old fool didn’t see it coming.
Still command expects him a leader, head of
the spear, leading the charge! Yet how can he do so when all he
sees visible, is traitorous heartache and his own murderous rage?
In truth he doesn’t know, the path ahead is deceitful,
glorious sunrise gives hope, while sprouting thickets of thorns.
They Tear through his unifrom and tatter his pride!
Still, alone he marches forward, body weak and wavering.
A comrade! A comrade! The whole world for a comrade!
But no good soul hears his cries, he marches still. Always forward; Bravado! Bravado!