Spitfire
They hired us all to make amends, fall oh so far
I – with my stanley blade, she – with her dire backbone
We’d have far preferred to have been at home
Where these monstrous pits fail in their very existence
I fall and she will fall, ’til placing out an arm
Holding on tight, crawling back on up
Rain from the flames longing to burn her every bridge
Then, I so much as see a way out!
Shout, then instigate a route right to the top
Where our true heroes stand, prestigious medal in hand
Thanking us in kind for being their own particular backbone, for they know full well we’re about to swim in an ocean of colour
Namely ash red
We dread the pain but, nonetheless, the very last thing that they get to see will be the tips of our chest

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