Shrine.

You build your shrine to Time,
broken memories better left behind -
sacrificed for the future,
and cast aside.

Where once there laid a flame
there now lies embers.
And where once you said a name
your lips now stay sealed.
You used to speak in forevers
but Time you cannot tame.
It's no commodity to be dealt
nor is it swayed by wealth and fame.
For all that our riches can afford
Time will best us all the same.

So you build your shine to Time,
every paintstroke is a memory left behind -
sacrificed for the future,
and cast aside.

Tracks.

Stretching on for an eternity before me,
the road was pitch black beneath the growing clouds.
Once distant howling now grew closer every second
whilst the cold paralysed, and the touch of Winter dulled all sense.
The rails start to shake, as my whole body seems to tense.
The barriers are lowered, the heavens open up.
Thunder and rain strike from forgotten clouds so dark and dense.
The train passes for only a second
and then the rain relents.

Free.

How do you know that you are free
unless you break away from the mould;
do the unexpected,
consider the rejected,
and go against what you were told?
Doesn't incarceration work at its best
if you never discover the extent of its hold?

Dice.

"Roll up, roll up!
Roll the dice for your chance to win!"
He wears a suit to look professional,
but years of wear render the illusion thin.

"Whatever the result, you'll be a winner!
After all, there are no losers here!"
We know he's lying, but we'll play anyway.
It's not just a game of chance, but a game of fear.

"You'd be stupid not to play with these odds!
Just make sure you don't forget to pay!"
And there's the catch we'd been waiting for.
There's always one, no matter what they say.

"If you don't take the gamble, what exactly will you do?
Just imagine all of the things you might miss!"
It's an enticing, age old offer... And he knows it.
But the cost seems to go up with every new name on the list...

Shooting.

Gun shots and twisted screams.
Vibrant shades of red against the grey.
The stuff of nightmarish dreams
against the dull reality of day.
The smoke clears. The shooting halts.

You leap. You dash. You slip.

Hands racing for your pistol
the shooting starts again.
The concrete is warm beneath the sun.
You limp across it,
arm outstretched, shaking, with the gun.
You can make it, you can make it.
If anyone can - it's you - you're the one.

You leap. You dash. You fall.

Your head hits the concrete and it seems to burn.
Then the cold. The chilling, biting cold.
It seeps into your stomach,
and steals the very breath from your lungs.
The smoke clears. The shooting halts.

You gasp. You choke. You freeze.

Charge.

It's off to war we go, my lads,
it's off to war we go.
Which port of theirs we're headed for
I shan't pretend to know.
When we hit those foreign shores,
we'll wander into town -
and fill up local hovels
'till disease puts us underground!

It's off to war we go, my lads,
it's off to war we go.
We'll march shoulder to shoulder and
only ever so precisely slow.
For running is too demanding -
and charging such a bore.
I'm a gentleman in a gentleman's army
and I expect no less from the war!

It's off to war we go, my lads,
it's off to war we go.
I'll send you off without a clue but
you'll put on a hell of a show.
You'll all go down in history -
the stuff of legend and books.
Some of you might not return
but it can't be as grim as it looks!

It's off to war we go, my lads,
it's off to war we go.
I fear I may have blundered here
for numbers now seem low.
But I surely deserved my title -
I even paid for it myself.
And they can't take that away from me
for as long as I have my health!

Morality.

Morality isn't black and white:
it's different shades of grey.
For one man is always crushed
when another "saves the day".