“What is it you want from me?
A paycheck, full and deep?
And if I can’t produce it,
Will you send me to the streets?”

“What I want from you is not
An object anymore
I long for you to send all of
Your soldiers to my door,”

“But what if all my soldiers,
Stiff and blue from winter’s cold?
Then to who’s porch my bags should rest,
When my limbs grow old?”

“If cold and blue your soldiers turn,
I’ll graciously accept
A button on your soldier’s coat
Whittled down from death,”

“The words you speak, once love to me,
Have frozen, hard and black
As apparent by my shoulder cold,
And my bags packed,”

“You cannot keep your balance
With your foot on either side
Despite your silent plea,
You are in need of a divide.

“And know—I’ll always love you,
Through every journey of your pride.”