A race is set before us,
A race with a finish line laid down, written by ocean waves in our palms,     A race not for a vagabond

Our lives are kindled by the little fireflies that spark lanterns in our beings,       

And the most lasting dreams are those in rain but all sort of vicissitude and walls of a puddle

Running to triumph,                                 

we are Losers,                                     

but victorious for he that have not tasted failure is not living.

After all we are flag bearers, fighting for not our ideologies,                               alone,                                                  

but giving solace to the weaker branch.

Because a well fought fight carries with it,                                                           

A lit match to light our brothers candles, For a trace of sweat on bodies means we are running in a race of man.

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