The Price of Freedom to an Imprisoned Soul
by James O. Cannon
From the eyes of dust do thee see,
To the deepest darkness of the abyss.
May your soul cry out in anguish
Through clenched teeth,
As it is I who will stand the victor.
Our battle shall be fought in fury
Blood and rotted tissue scattered,
As a macabre mural,
To stand the test that time presents.
The blade I hold is light,
But it is also strong.
It has severed flesh before,
As well as tendon and bone,
And so shall do so again.
There will be no rest,
For anyone on this field today,
Lest my blade be sated with their blood.
Oh! the warm, crusted stench,
That which is closer than my family.
The gruel of battle that embraces,
Like the arms of a dearest lover.
Black and red smears of memory,
They darken my eyes with pain.
The things a man has done in hate,
The things that make a nation unforgettable.
Death is the cold embrace of history.
My brothers shall see this day,
That I am not the victim of psychosis.
Our father is lost in in his kingdom,
But cares not for his true children.
My blade cuts through their ranks with ease,
the warm blood covers my face like paint.
My brothers are waiting for me with dark grins,
they are expecting me to strike at them.
I plunge my blade deep into my heart.
And with my last breath I am forever free.
From the eyes of dust do thee see,
To the deepest darkness of the abyss.
May your soul cry out in anguish
Through clenched teeth,
As it is I who will stand the victor.
Our battle shall be fought in fury
Blood and rotted tissue scattered,
As a macabre mural,
To stand the test that time presents.
The blade I hold is light,
But it is also strong.
It has severed flesh before,
As well as tendon and bone,
And so shall do so again.
There will be no rest,
For anyone on this field today,
Lest my blade be sated with their blood.
Oh! the warm, crusted stench,
That which is closer than my family.
The gruel of battle that embraces,
Like the arms of a dearest lover.
Black and red smears of memory,
They darken my eyes with pain.
The things a man has done in hate,
The things that make a nation unforgettable.
Death is the cold embrace of history.
My brothers shall see this day,
That I am not the victim of psychosis.
Our father is lost in in his kingdom,
But cares not for his true children.
My blade cuts through their ranks with ease,
the warm blood covers my face like paint.
My brothers are waiting for me with dark grins,
they are expecting me to strike at them.
I plunge my blade deep into my heart.
And with my last breath I am forever free.
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