Lord God,

Grant this as not me building a poker face,
But this as me building a fucking army,
And when the dust settles on the deflowered battlefield of despair,
It is here I have gazed into the sharpest diamonds of hope,
And they reflect no love, for love is a bag of mushrooms,
They reflect no friendship, for friendship can spoil in the sun.
They reflect my eyes and I can see only myself,
And all the artillery in the world cries and rusts,
As you lift your fists like the cruel wrecking ball of justice.
Yes, this is a war.
And we've got panic buttons far beyond enemy borders,
And we've learned many of the little things our books didn't remember.
So we have no supplies but our masses of determination,
And we shall march without tempting the gravity of the marshes of depression,
So bring me my music and I shall fake a dance,
Lend me to my muse and I will weaken with gratitude,
And then raise up your ale, your shotguns, your horses,
So we may prevail above all traitorous immoral desires,
And tear through these villages like prisons of betrayal.
And I believe in you.
I believe in myself.
Thank-you for everything, I will trust in you always.

Love Jared.