They say his soul was forged from eternal steel, but he knows that he is nothing but A man born from flesh and blood.
Born to be ordered to kill with no regret until he would order the same.
In the blistering heat
He trudges through the valley of lost souls,
Looking at death straight in the eye. Knowing deep inside there is no surrender from it. There never will be.
Adrenaline never begins to pump through his veins with great heist like it does for other soldiers.
Behind the trigger he will always lay analyzing the bloody field before him, waiting to rip flesh from the bones of the enemies.
He sees the paralysesd faces of small children, women and the elderly of the wasteland, with no where to run.
He closes his tired eyes for a second.
Nothing happens, blood starts to flow from the jagged wound of memories in his mind.
He knows now he's on his own.
As darkness prevails vanquishing the perfect light.
He lays his head down to sleep.
Droplits of blood soak through morning mist
the smell of burnt flesh fills the air.
He awakes from his deathly sleep to fight another day.