Everyone who fights evil in earnest
In a desert or among the reclame* [reɪˈklɑːm]
He can tell you it’s really scariest
When the evils from inside of him come.
And as soon as the enemy does it,
Awful infinite war will go on,
Manifesting in dreary desert
Or in glowing lights of neon.
Man’s afraid of this fights as nightmares,
But ruining his bad in his face,
He transmits in the night morse of prayers
To call upon himself strike of grace.
No matter how miserable he is
And contused by promotional rattle -
Fighter will not alone for years
In the heart as the field of the battle.
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