We were accidents, happenstance,
Idle thoughts in this forsaken place;
Underdogs against the odds,
(Not even) contenders in the race.
We were warriors born of ingenuity,
Sewn rough on back alleys and side streets;
And rose up like desert colossi
From the detritus and broken concrete.
In the dust we make our stand,
Reaching for something beyond our grasp;
Never knowing or even caring
That this revolution would be our last.
Then come the dawn, we'll leave this carbon plane,
Hearts and souls shot full of lead;
To be kings (and one day, gods)
And walk among these cities of the dead.
Created: Oct 23, 2014