Tattered Banner

Not quite sure. I sort of just... typed away.

On the hill, hill, hill

the rebels they waited

for the kill, kill, kill

as the soldiers marched up to them.

 

And every single one of them, cried out to the night air,

"Let this be the last breath I take!"

 

Wake up, in cold sweat,

scared to the bone with a black flag in one hand.

His rifle, it was shattered,

to weak and pathetic he managed to crawl

as the screaming continued to pound in his ears

he wondered when it would be over,

a tattered banner, another broken mind to repair

and he laughed to himself at the thought.

 

He said years from now,

when he was all grown up,

he'd swear how,

funny it all was.

And driving alone in the dark with no one,

he'd free his mind with a song.

 

So let it build, build, build.

As the cities grow and rise.

And let them, fill, fill, fill

their bellies with our labour.

And one day the revolution

though many years off, will bring responsive and justified action... 

 

And he'll still wake up,

in that cold sweat, the same nightmare haunting his mind.

And she'll be in there, always mocking and burning

hatred and despair forever eternal...

the pains in this skull and the stomach won't stop

the last time he tried to recall

when he didn't feel so out of touch with himself

he fell into a pool of his vomit.

And the clock keeps on ticking, the world keeps on spinning

and he'll still be stuck behind,

lost in time and space and reality,

broken, forgotten, like a bad record

and in his mind,

he'll try to find some solace.

 

Oh in my mind,

I'll try to find,

some solace.