"i cant be in your army " at the start of the war.
while i was on the battlefield, but what for?
And what of all the restless thoughts of
ammunition?
And what of all the nights
and stars, without discretion?
The glory of the useless, despite all our fear-
I had always been a poorly trained
love buccaneer-
A commander of the word
but not my sentence-
unforgiving, although
giving up my senses.

The sky might have been made of glass
or sheets of iron.
My pride may have been fed by fear
or other Fires.

I only know this one way left to fight-
with the stars and no discretion
for the night.