And so his epic began,
With the touch of pen to paper,
Had he forfeit liberty?
Was equality greater?
His blameless head...
And what of my tale?
Would it ever be sung?
Could I live through the war?
To spill the words from my tongue?
Or would we both end up dead?
Would we both end up dead?

Was his life worth ten others, ten others,
Killed with merciless gail?
We'd learn to paint the sands red...
Would my hand be steady now,
 [bad word] this awful task?
Spew forward heated shells,
From the trigger 
From the trigger
in my grasp?
We'd learn to paint the sands red.