Unsubstantial thoughts in this moment of grace,
like soldiers returning to the battlefield,
blood and powder and dirt and the presence of God.
Do they see the light ahead of them? Do they see it?
Do they see the darkness behind them? Do they see it?
I’m a soldier in this moment of grace.
A dead soldier in this moment of grace.
Those who sing the rhyme, those who sing
the voice that fuels their anger,
those who repeat the echoes,
are they sure this is what they want to sing?
Those who will die,
have they known the grace of God?
Have they?
They breathe and march on.
Are they afraid?
Soy un soldado que vive en todos los tiempos.
There´s no light. There’s no darkness.
But the soldiers keep marching on,
like unsubstantial thoughts
in my head.
I`m a soldier, a dead soldier.
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