A friend of mine is dying,
His body racing to catch his soul,
No longer aware of approaching necrosis,
Blinded and out of control.

Once proud and strong,
Offering advice that was worth the time,
He was a friend you could certainly count on,
Now, he cannot trust thoughts of his own.

Set free the legions of honor,
And let them claim their dead,
Tis’ a better fate for the soldier,
Than is rotting on battlefields of old.

Play not hymns for a dying republic,
As the Hun has entered the gate,
He is welcomed by the soft heart of the ignorant,
And his presence has sealed our fates.

Meanwhile, there are none to defend us,
But broken heroes of days gone by,
Seduced by dulling the senses,
And telling tales of bravery lost.

Can you hear the agonal breaths of a nation,
No longer bothering to rationalize the fall,
With no excuse for the cowardice of the majority,
Celebrating treason on the streets.

And meanwhile, my friend is dying,
Of drunkenness he cannot forsake,
And I can do nothing but stand by and watch him,
And others, oblivious to their collective mistake.