omadhaun
Easy Company
From moment's birth to silent death
O morrow ! Why must this be ?
Every single gasp of breath -
Tis nought of thee !
Dree upon thee night and day
Upon thy sickroom's view of life ,
No matter if thou joy of sorrow -
Merriment's dream dost wane in strife .
The rife of all this senselessness
Thy day shall pass in vain ,
Wherein thus inearth to rot -
Of no more , no more pain .
And ever shall this cycle wend
For such , or why of worth ;
To bide and bide in lachrymose -
Til death from Nascent's birth .
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Easy Company
Easy Company