no voices heard, no cries of pain; all has gone silent upon reality
the faces of men never met; games of power will always flare
dying cries of pain can now be heard; boots kick up blood and dirt
on the terrain of unknown land, on the terrain of unknown land
born for death, pushing through the fields
born for death, pushing through the fields
the numbness of the soul has to be, in order for the body to sustain
no time for thought; just to kill; the stains of reality keep it real
wishing for thoughts of retreat or return now very well seem absurd
bullets kick up blood and dirt, in heat or cold; snow or sand
born for death, pushing through the fields
born for death, pushing through the fields