This one goes out to my poor T-cells. Poor bastards did nothing but kick ass and take names for year after year, and now, suddenly, without warning, they are faced with one tough ass group of cancer cells. Like heading into battle with a whole army of special forces. I feel for them, but I am afraid I need them to learn fast and win. That is our only true option.
I am thinking that I just need to turn all these poems into black metal songs and I will be set. Too bad I have no skills, instruments or musical knowledge. But I do have friends… One in particular has a ton of time, excellent skills and, I believe, and assortment of instruments.
The Walking Dead
Like mists forming on a river bank,
Rows of soldiers start to rise.
Stretching limbs and cracking necks,
They start to feel alive.
They are heading down to Pancrea,
Where they know they'll probably die.
Bred for war they have known no peace;
They are forming into rows.
Roll calls yelled and marching plans,
Are given out in droves.
March, good soldiers, to your fated doom;
Soon your flesh will feed the crows.
Rise, rise, the walking dead.
Rise, rise, For war you’re bred.
Rise, rise, the walking dead.
Rise, rise, to war you’re led.
Warriors rise ten thousand fold,
And they turn toward their goal:
A fight determined by cruel fate,
Is all they'll ever know.
No sunny beaches or seas becalmed,
Will be shown their weary souls.
Their biggest fear is friendly fire,
Aimed squarely at their backs.
Head down the beach, to your end,
Follow in your brother's tracks.
It's all we have, the disposable,
The only heroes causing cracks.
Rise, rise, the walking dead.
Rise, rise, For war you’re bred.
Rise, rise, the walking dead.
Rise, rise, to war you’re led.
A thousand wars and millions dead,
Yet never have we won;
But on we march into the fight,
To the beat of the woeful drum.
And on we fight forever more,
Or until our time is done.
The picture is in France, down by Aix en Provence. I forget the name of the fortress, but I remember it was carved out of a mountain, cool as anything I have ever seen and windy as hell. Oh yeah, and Lindsay did what she often does in these places, namely tried to get us kicked out by riding the battering ram.
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