A Million to One

A dozen rows of soldiers, friends, brothers, fathers, sons, They dressed you up and sent you off, poised, positioned. Everywhere you look, you gaze upon photocopies under one uniform: Stripped of individuality Welcome to the show, here, we throw metal roses to the audience, the corrupted sons of Eve, all dancing to percussion. Backstage: the scent of death, blood and roasted almonds. Final show, curtain closed They wait for you, your memory fading, it's too late... The petals of moonlight and shadows of dawn, they started this mess, weapons drawn, A dozen rows of soldiers, friends, brothers, fathers, sons They slowly decreased: A million, two, one... Final bow, curtain close, thank you for coming, but where is the rose? They performed well and i know you want more, but i have to apologise For there will be no encore...