Man lost,Man down,Man Resurected
Have you ever run into arms of the misfortune, just to be a man again? Have you ever jumped into a sea of other men just to protect your brother? Have you ever run into certain death, no matter what
Have you ever run into arms of the misfortune, just to be a man again?
Have you ever jumped into a sea of other men just to protect your brother?
Have you ever run into certain death, no matter what happens?
Have you ever been so alive?
Death riding the shotgun, angels falling around you, screaming in agony…
Your blood mixed with the blood of other men
before your eyes, total chaos rains,
spears filled with names of those that will be struct at any moment
agony, ecstasy, a morbid picture that no man should see
but yet you will never be so alive
I never pray, but on this momentous day I don’t pray for myself
I pray for my brothers, I pray for every man if this is the last day on this cursed Earth
when death comes knocking let it be a swift, good death
Death that will last thousand years, that will last a thousand stories
A death that will mean something even to you, future brother, sister
Even after thousands of years have passed and we, great warriors,
who gave everything that they have, on this momentous day we will be just a memory
memory washed in haze of long battle when men decided to be men again
On the day when Sun and Moon came together when even Earth wept
remember us, remember what we have done, remember our sacrifice
remember us when you find yourself on the battlefield
When under the roaring sky, legs turn to lead, and bravery has forsaken you
Remember US!
When the sky turns black when the air will fill itself with the heaviness that is almost unbearable, remember us and set yourself free
Because in that holy moment, you will be finally free
You will be finally MAN
Hunted, cursed, loved, hated
But finally MAN
At that moment you will see what has been taken away from you
What you have lost
But lost can be found, bravery can be regained, and fear…
Fear, fear in that moment, doesn’t mean a thing anymore
Fear can go and f himself
Because you are men, not cowards and destiny calls
I pitty a War party that trembles in fear
For those that are shackled by the arms of fear,
there will be just one
destiny, a destiny that awaits lesser men
It is nothing for you, you are not that man.
You are a holy warrior, charging into unknown
chasing your manhood, to live again
Death or life doent’t mean a thing
Only what matters, to be a man again.
To love with a full heart, to breathe a full life with lungs
that experienced a loving embrace of freedom
, embrace that only truly free man knows.
We were warriors once, now the time has come again
Can you feel it?
I curse the cowards of this world I curse our enemies
But I will be generous I will send you a smile, my enemy
so when we meet
You will know the name and you will recognize the smile
on that day You will know death, you will know me
Reminds me of Brad Pits Achilles, the most underrated performance of all time. I can't crosspost this till morning but it looks like your doing fine without me. How about some Shakespeare:
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
Awe inspiring, HP. A knockout!