At The Hands Of History

we made history but we'll never make your books.
forever overlooked
misunderstood
as the puzzle pieces that never seemed to fit
the mold. in post morning
we're ghosts of the heroes famed in your textbook stories.
at the hands of history
we bleed for a seat
in your memory.
so now we're history but a lesson you may never learn.
so let our voices carry out the meanings caught between our words.
and may it echo through the ages.
the grounds of their foundations
are built
on others
who fought a war against their own nation.
they say that those brave enough to speak
will always leave a mark on our history.
but they won't tell you
why we won't see the day we come to terms
with the things we leave for that empty seat
when glory's just a path we walk between
talks of peace while we're sleep walking
and a soldiers dream of a noble killing.
to fit in place
there's never room for change.
who the fuck wants to become a slave anyway.
we've got the new nationalism
undefined by laws.
for this we'll always be forgotten
by our heroic flaws.