In crisis too large, through ramparts we barge.
For reasons unknown, at numbers unshown.
Could be brothers quarrel, thou carries thy moral.
Come fist over gun, you may perch on my shoulder.
Our colors don't run,but our enemies smoulder.
Tyranny fears our esprit de corps, we the people are strongerthen war.
Written February 2011 by Octavian Willson during class in college.