Soldiers as Blood Brothers
The rain pours and they are covered in mud,
hands as buckets, these boys are somewhat blood. Frosty hands, when the rain becomes ice, defending the flag, a cold wintery war soldiers buried in snow and grass just the roll of the dice. No CD's spinning or softballs hitting the mit, a treetop as a houseroof with a small candle lit. He picks up the soil, a soldiers fighting ground, a memory, no, but a brothering reminder he has a clean bullet wound his friend, his blood brother, now has a grave mound. He can't just ignore a waterfall of lifesavers, also killers, but for the good of favors. A battlefield of knights, pawns, and rooks one soul purpose, to defend the king to endeaver to get his safty each brother of blood, each king, memories in books. |
That's tite yo, keepin postin.
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