Soldiers Little Ditty

Fire violently consumes their eyes. Everything resonates of life as they stare headlong into the sun. Destined to dwell amidst burning, they feel beckoned home. Their cry, "How long will the wicked prosper?" For they soon shall become just like dust. Tenacity erupts in a violent maelstrom of fervor within the hearts of these people. Arms locked they fearlessly march through the valley of the shadow of death led by the Light that destroys all in its wake. The virulent cancer lashes forth taking casualties, yet they fearlessly march eyes set on the bliss to come. The weak are marching on as the world staggers like a drunkard. Though my body may perish it is only a shadow. We will follow the lamb wherever he goes; he loved us to the end.