They wore it so well
Their uniformed burden was ill fitting but agreeable
The armour of fallen warriors
Their Valley had won.
The hustle had become an addiction
And the dream had proved to be fiction
Left to spoil under the gaze of Eckleburg,
to the tune of murmured breaths, they worked.
They longed for their dreams of serenity
A strong arm or mighty hand to redeem their weary bodies
But freedom comes when you fight for it
And their Valley had won.
