Candlelight, Snowy Night Wind

The cowardly ones stand up, the greedy ones uphold morality, the world-weary ones ignite their souls, and the weak ones nail their positions. They choose to bite into nothingness before they rot! Victory is the silence after the roar of the meat grinder, the frame-up and slaughter covered by medals. Not a heroic epic, but the neighing of a rusty knife scraping bones. Those who are misanthropic write a list in the smoke of gunpowder, and the struggles, fears, and glimmers of little people will eventually burn through the smeared and obscured history, proving that the humble are the truest echoes of troubled times. Wild grass and wild fires are burning with blood, and the west wind is howling in the snowy night. The jackdaws are pecking at the bones, the phosphorus fire is shining in the evening, and the horns are wailing. What do ants want? Hanging on for breath, life is like an autumn leaf. Watching the new recruits wet their pants makes the old soldiers numb, and their souls are extinguished in the light of the sword. Who keeps score and laughs? Who can pity and eat each other? The greedy wolf values ​​righteousness, the tired soldier wakes up, and the coward keeps his integrity. The lonely shadow learns from itself, the abyss is alone, and the shame is the same as the mud. Even if the achievements are made into thousands of bones, the flags are covered with blood, and the hymns are still stolen. If the name is buried, the wind will decline, and the history will be broken.