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Thunderstorms

They were tired and their bodies were sore,

They moved on never knowing what was in store.

They were breathing heavy, and their sweat clung to their hair.

They moved steadily never getting anywhere.

The morning sun came up through the night,

He thought,'I wonder if heaven looks this damn bright?"

The bullets rang out, like thundering drops of rain,

only heard the thunder, never felt the pain.

When it was over, he stood very still.

Red rivers ran through the mud, echoing the kill.

His mind left his numb body and washed off in the rain.

They say he's never been the same ever again.

He sits and watches the thunderstorm come in.

The closer it comes, he digs his nails into his skin.

They say those storms, are the only way he can cry;

What do you do, when you are the only one who didn't die?

He looked down, he didn't smile, he didn't frown.

He thought about how here, in the end of the game,

all the blood flows together and becomes all the same.

He couldn't tell what was yellow and what was white,

As far as he could see, the world was cast into night.

Inside him, troubled, was the fact that he didn't know,

If everything he'd ever learned, was really just for show.

'Cause here in the jungle, surrounded by dead friends,

It seemed that the means, had never reached their ends.

He sits and watches the thunderstorm come in.

The closer it comes, he digs his nails into his skin.

They say those storms are the only way he can cry;

What do you do, when you are the only one who didn't die?

Carrie Croteau · 91 days ago
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Thunderstorms