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.