Each step takes me closer

To my destiny preordained.

Nay, not in a religious sense,

But in complexity never stained.

There the road winds ever forward,

Passing the years which have elapsed.

Seeing the faces long removed,

Yet knowing they have found their place.

Forward ho, a voice cries.

Calling as if from the highest

Hill, yet knowing it must not be so.

For I am a lonesome soldier.

The battle has ceased.

The smoke burns my eyes.

The smell of a rotting corpse,

Lets me know it must be hell.