A man hiding in his house, away from the crowd
Lights off, running from his death only to cross a burned fieldBurned from the war in his mind
Bodies laying full of holes
The smell is the smell of death and burning flesh
As the sun sets he is cast into total darkness
The sky is as dark as a bottle of black ink
As he blunders around in the field he feels a body hot, ashy
Fighting for the right to live
