[bad word] cut my hair short for me, I am ready for war. 
Send me away to a place I've already been before. 
Climb up that hilltop and tell me what you see. 
Ground above your head and plenty of sky beneath your feet. 
March across that land, scale them walls. You've already won. 
The water in your cells may boil in the Sun. 
I've done this once in my life, cracking at my teeth. 
When I got home I recovered from it and I poured my cup of tea. 
Careful where you tread, those trails all end in entanglement. They'll trip you up over your myelin, over cables and cobwebs. Head splitting leisurely, the cyanide you spit could fertilize exhaustion or catalyze regret. 
When you're out there you'll find yourself digging holes and when you're out there the trenches will need light from your soul.