The river sometimes become too cold for fish to swim
Hell sometimes become too hot for devil to burn
Sometimes too at extreme corners of this world
We sit on the edges of doubts
Our fears become too real to be ignored
Have I not been a soldier all my life
A general in the deadly front of life
Yet when I sit on the edges of silence
I wondered the purpose if my scars
Have I not been a good man all my life
Scribbling in gold my name in the hearts of all
Yet when I sit on the edges of silence
I wondered if modesty is not slavery
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