I like the smell of gunpowder in the morning:
armored suit, sharpened swords just yesterday.
"Onward we shall move!" a fist in the air,
freedom's with the people who fight in fear.
Gunpowder was in the air while it spelled war and
all the mothers and children with their hands covering their ears:
innocent people dragged into a fight for freedom.
Yet the fight continued, an entire street swept with blood and sweat
and tears of the women as their loved ones beg for mercy from enemy.
Still, a kick in the face from their boots wasn't nice
but when freedom's what they are fighting for, begging for mercy
smells like a traitor from every way you look.
Destiny was one that played a big role,
perhaps it wasn't the case but they knew.
Killing is one thing, being killed is the other, you can't
fear death if you're prepared to kill.
Lick the enemy's blood off the edge of your blade,
heart trembling with excitement while you
toss the corpse away, walking off deeper into the darkness.
You know your soul has gone a different way
into the abyss, light doesn't exist.
What is light? Those memories long ago,
you don't really remember what you're fighting for anymore.