• There came a time
    when I had to choose
    between 'living' life,
    swimming in booze,
    and being myself,
    but upset, not amused.
    'Myself' wasn't good enough,
    I had to be icy tough,
    I was so confused,
    trapped in a pawn shop,
    sold, bottled, used.

    There is a time
    where I'll have to choose
    between the gun and the knife,
    the lyre and the muse,
    the sword and the shield,
    to fight or to yield,
    to live or to die,
    to stare or ask why,
    the warpaint of Scots,
    the camo-green cots,
    the chemical burns
    or the medals I earn...

    The choices I make will forever affect
    the lives of myself, my mate and my pack
    like wolves we push onward to ward off the cold,
    OH MY GOD, I feel really old.