At the border where death’s shadow haunts, red is the only color breathing. A levitating crescent follows its cry, as silence shivers, revealing secrets long hidden.
A forgotten tale lies beneath a chapter closed, beneath the green flag waving proudly. A victory, splendid in its own right, will one day mark my grave, a testament to the soldier who dies, shielded by glory.
A thousand lives are yearned for by the dying heart, as youths are slayed on red earth, weeping and gleaming in their final moments. The border remains haunted by death’s shadow, and red is the only color that continues to breathe, pulsing with the weight of sacrifice and glory.