Blood is currency.

Next time I see them, I’m putting up a fight.

Tonight I start at the hut, thin, bruised & white.

Though partnered with the old & grey, blood stain I medals are worn that night.

A white shirt ruined, today I was a bull, something more than dull & nice.

Red leather on my skin, sees bright day’s bleed away.

Winters pass, rich with a fog of war pried from men longing to forget.

Tumbling through the fog, I find to a gold path I wasnt lookig for.

In a world where gold is glory & blood is currency, forgetful men are willing to pay the price.