As we all marched ahead, in the early hours it began. Letter in my pocket still unread. The fire lit, the sky went red, as we drew near the smell of death. Treading through the heavy silence left. I told myself I'd never lift a hand in hatred. I was wrong. Torn up, reborn the way they made me. It's not long now. I tried in vain to look away, from the tragic sight of what remained. Wiped off the atlas, our birth place. Those of us who still survived, took to the hills before they came. Me, my knife, and my rifle sat in wait. My love letter folded out. My last chance I did it now. I began to hear her read aloud, "Don't you fill your heart with hate, no matter what this world will take, our love must not be disgraced." I told myself I'd never lift a hand in hatred. You were right. Torn up, reborn the way they made me. It's not long now, it's not long now.