An army stood at the edge of the hill,
Preparing for a coming battle,
Sharpening their blades,
Herding you around like cattle,
Their muskets primed and ready,
Their cannons sought an eruption,
Whittling their arrows to a point,
Holding onto the faint corruption,
I stood alone,
Without a blade,
Not even my shadow had my back,
Which hid shivering in the shade,
I stood alone,
Ready to take the force at hand,
To reclaim your pride and joy,
To reclaim the land,
The battle would soon be dismayed,
Yet they did their little dance,
Spears flew on the cold raspy air,
But in reality they had no chance.
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