Below The Soils

There are no questions, no riddles or a marks from the godsNo saviour, no redemption for the cross-bearing heartsThere are no footmarks to followOnly the gallows in sightThis flesh is weakened and strainedYet still roaming aheadThe tears of salt or the drops of bloodAll shed from the same treesAnd the roots of the scarred fleshAll spread into wasteThere's a mark, there's an invisible scarA sight with distorted hope, carved into stonesWritten in trees, burnt into pages of historyAnd whether to fight or struggle in silenceTo give steel or to lay in the pyresA spear in the chest or a knife in handTo lay below the soils or to march for these landsThe flesh is weakened and strainedBuried below the soils of the brav