It possess elegance; the white, the black,
And the mixture causes gray, the unknown area,
The unknown, the place to be.
To look at these, almost single filed lines,
White army, ready to go.
Their future, unknown to them,
But we, looking down, watching,
Know that they will parish,
The White Soldiers.
Fearless, but unable to stand their ground, are blown away,
Taken by air, but still charge until they parish into the stream
Making one impair, thinking he's a hero, but slowly killing.
Look down at the people looking at The White Soldiers,
And see the road to euphoria, in the still, long, forever,
Empty life, that leave theirs Souls near death in their bodies.