this is the moment when the banner falls
into the dust we call the battle lost
let our swords rust and rue the total cost
repenting anger and regretting brawls
each of us back to our home cavern crawls
lacking all trust not seeing that the crossed
sigils of lust all marked now by hard frost
no longer point toward ancestral halls
no struggle that we win nor war we lose
has meaning now the season's not so ripe
as it was then in the full grip of youth
nor have we got the honest force to choose
but must it seems remain to carp and gripe
regarding what it means to speak the truth
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