You ask if any of this was real,
But all I wonder,
Is can the broken really heal?
After the hell they have to endure.
And after all they defend,
While trying to cope,
The scars they mend,
While everything crumbles, even hope.
Rising from the ashes,
Not completely defeated,
Fighting in masses,
For the freedom they always needed.
And as the dirt washes away,
The dirt an the grime,
Taking the stench of decay,
As they win small victories at a time.
And as the dirt leaves their faces,
You can see their perfect flesh,
Breathing at different paces,
Working as one beginning to mesh.
This is what they have been waiting for,
An ending to their sad story,
Something never heard of before,
Their own victory.
