Old duty called again only to find old soldiers staring out windows that the light of youth could not cut through. The sirens prepare such old souls for a walk down the road that is lined with lillies. Coursing with renewed vim, a man’s man who vigorously waits for his destination sits back with a reserve that puts a smile on the face of the neighbor widows. As change falls upon the currency of bondage, so rises to golden standards the shouts for release to a former day when rarity was common and wives were a step away from supporting the big push forward. Our men have traveled on the dirt and well polished rock, and require forbidden sacrifices of the Right, reserved for occassions of mediocre bombing frenzy. The static collects through time and transforms the once still leaders into vibrant defenders of the status quo. Return once again on the knees of boys in training for their day of worldly excess, cast out and used for the propagation of the Strain. Shallow may they walk, as are one in the same, as are men who were once clean, as are those called out from their peers, as are animals awaiting to be predator or prey. It stops around the fire with quick exchanges and detached expressions of lost intent.

And when it ends, they all stand to begin once more.

Editor’s note – Originally written on Easter 2006. Note similarities with “The Horror”.