On the eve before the victorious battle
The enemy sent out his spies
Into their camps,
Dressed in disguise
Around their campfires he planted gossipers
He sent the whisperers
The story tellers
He told stories
Of contentedness
Of discontentedness
Why should I die?
But that was the lie
The living that followed
The night of abandonment
Was not fit to be called life
And the whispers continued
Into the night
And in the morning
Who was left to fight?
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