We were tired from the march through the desert. Scorching sun... no water... no food... no resting... just marching on.
I felt like my soul wants to leave my body through the nose.
"Why wasn't I a horseman?" I thought to myself.
Now, in this foreign land I walk, under this deadly sun and no one cares if I drop dead right now.
It is helpless... I can't take this war any longer.
Two thousand men left alone to be eaten by the sand.
This world will forget about us.
Our children will not remember us.
Our wives will hate us.
But we still go on... marching to certain death.
We had a hard battle, a stalemate. Many of us died, many of them died... too many died.
They will go back to their home and lick their wounds but our army is crushed.
King will not let us rest as those dogs could be after us, fresh and eager to fight.
Death is the only path we know now.
Torn between the scorching sun and burning sand.
Death is the path we take.
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Zbirka Bizarnosti
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