Staring death in the face, we’ve determined it’s the end. Here we stand, poorest of them all. No one cares but my three friends. Walking down the battle line, my pain present through it all. Looking for a final death, but our suffering a battle call. And through our weakness we grow stronger. Stumble towards the enemy, then a roar of distant thunder. As they walk into our wake, leaving us to stand and wonder. I believe something great lies ahead. Though we’re alive, we should be dead. Born to people as a curse, now been made something of worth. Through the pages we have learned, victory is not strength through numbers. It’s all a matter of the heart. Hard times won’t keep us under. Now we’ve got them on the run. Left foot, right foot, pick it up again. And now their numbered days are done. Left foot, right foot, pick it up again.