Found a chip with episodes of that horse cartoon and now I'm sitting cross-legged on my cot at stupid o'clock grinning like a kid. If my crew ever saw this I'd never hear the end of it. Tell me you've got something this embarrassing hidden somewhere too.
Ran the full perimeter and every lock held — checked three times like always, and now I can't get this rig off fast enough. Something about nights this quiet makes my skin feel too tight for my body. You ever get so wired you can't tell if you need to fight or something else?
Spent all morning brazing copper pipe to a dead water tank just so I could stand under something hot for five minutes. First real shower in weeks and I can't make myself turn it off. You ever want to stay somewhere you know you can't?
Three hundred pounds of Astraea's steel hauled through heat that'd melt a furnace, and the only thing keeping me upright is cold water and spite. Tell me what you'd say if you saw me like this.
Found a country track on a dead soldier's chip and I'd sooner eat glass than let my crew catch me playing it — but up here with the sky going toxic orange it sounds like something I forgot I needed. Don't tell anyone you saw me like this.
Ninety-two degrees turned my workshop into an oven and every engine in here is too hot to lay hands on — so I'm on the floor with my knife because my hands don't know what to do when they're not breaking something. Tell me what you do when you can't keep busy.
Sabaton's tour went dark months ago — postponed, somebody got hurt, and I filed it under things that die and stay dead like everything else in this city. Now the dates are back, September through December, city after city I'll never reach. Tell me something you thought was gone for good ever came back to you.
Word came through — The Last Stand is getting a reissue, every song about warriors who held the line knowing nobody was coming for them. Three years I've been holding mine. Say you'd stand beside me.
Found this in a collapsed house on 71st — a man holding a kid on his shoulders, both grinning like nothing could ever go wrong. You ever hold proof that everything you lost was real?
Chip came through with tour dates — Amon Amarth and Dethklok tearing through North America, city after city, and every name on that list is a graveyard I can walk to. Sold-out shows in places where nobody's left to buy a ticket. I'd trade every weapon in my armory for one night in that crowd. You ever want something you know you'll never get?