War in the Meadow.

Metal of the mind and metal of life’s sweet struggle. They clash in the empty air ringing their woes loud and clear for all to hear.

Forgotten! They cry. Lost! They shout. Devout followers of their kindled wrath take up the standard. It is time to remember the foul, and wield the evil. Men, brave of heart and noble of vision, march in lines, filled out by divisions. They carry the death upon their bodies. Their tools of destruction long set out to fade into time are now held aloft once more by man’s grip and grief.

Mind over metal, and the mind’s daily struggle. They clash in the sullied meadow. Boots upon the flowers, boots upon the grass. Metals meeting has come at long last. Swing! Swing your blade through the tall grass. Sway, sway the blades of endless green morass.