When they rounded up the young and strong they left us behind to rot, we who had only grey hair and slack bodies to offer. They had no idea who we were. That was their first mistake.
When you’ve been through the mill, walked through the fire, gone under three times and still refused to break, it changes a person. Struggle burns away all that is inessential and leaves only steel.
We appreciate life the most, standing here at its last season. We’ve fought, lost and won our battles, and we know love is the only prize worth the effort.
They think us unworthy of their consideration, too frail to resist, a waste of good bullets. That’s their second mistake.
Now as we gear up for the mother of all fights, we will show them what we are made of. We have everything to fight for and no mercy to spare, and love will guide us true.
They underestimate us. That’s their final mistake.
It will be their epitaph.
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