Echoes Of War

ECHOS OF WAR:

Echoes of war flood my body, taking my finger of the shotty I’m stoned with courage. Life or death, the blood shed, the finest life blessed with Gods breath stained by the blood of distress. With my hands up, walk against that, your either for or against us.

My hearts trembling as if I am about to face death. All my nemesis crumble to tears when they hear me, it’s like the premiers. Hit them up there in the head my frontiers it appears I'm possessed. Humming away with my stone cold breathing, my pulse keeps singing whilst graveyards are hearing, and no fear is all that I'm feeling.

Bleed from the trail, scared from the Holy Grail. Armed to keep killers pressed, whatever they bring I ingest and manifest. Never going to let it rest, even if it gets full scale. Experiencing the withdrawals of being carefree and having a real taste of life, I still carry my guerrilla knife. Staying head strong, sell my soul to hell or become stone cold. Hang on, grasping on for revenge, dead on.

Holding on to my guns baron, with the greed of freedom in my heart. It lives with me never apart. Riffle thoughts from the day that I returned from war, shot, messed up and still showing love. Sacrifice, thrive alive, now that I ride free from the stress of knowing that your two steps away from death, two wrong steps that end your breath, two steps that get you shot dead.

Memoirs of scars from being spotted by radars, now living life in luxury with my cigar and Spanish guitar.

© Pencho Corlen 2003

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