Who must bear this standard of decay?Broken tombstones—buried ready flames
Every act of hindsight burns away
The memory of a breathless final day.
All these spirits broken break our chains—
Who will bear our standard of decay
Across the muted battle under way,
Beyond the fear that life may not soon wain?
Though every act of hindsight burns away
The hope of pain through lifetimes of delay;
Without the option—quite—of going insane.
Who must bear this standard of decay
That fades as one will never truly say
The truth that may always half remain
Though every act of hindsight burns away.
Though never new will blooming flowers stay
Without the blood from dying—all the same,
Who must bear this standard of decay
While every act of hindsight turns away?