Pride at one's past: how sweet!
Yet one's past is but a dark, dark beat,
Never people accept, never people see,
The decrepit past that they've once been.
Flames streak down that road, that heavy, hellish, road,
A suitable deterrent for the many unbrave,
Who lack the confidence to carry the load,
Just back and forth, water in a wave.
Forget, and forget, everything they've done,
All the battles, sorrows, sadness, past!
Nothing more here, they just carry on,
No more heroes, ignoring the war.
Never forget who you are:
Never ignore the glaring scars.