There are no questions, no riddles or a marks from the gods No saviour, no redemption for the crossbearing hearts There are no footmarks to follow Only the gallows in sight This flesh is weakened and strained Yet still roaming ahead The tears of salt or the drops of blood All shed from the same trees And the roots of the scarred flesh All spread into waste Theres a mark, theres an invisible scar A sight with distorted hope, carved into stones Written in trees, burnt into pages of history And whether to fight or struggle in silence To give steel or to lay in the pyres A spear in the chest or a knife in hand To lay below the soils or to march for these lands The flesh is weakened and strained Buried below the soils of the brave
strained, weakened, flesh, soil, footmark