Our bodies may be broken, but not our hearts

Quenching your thirst with muddy water

Borrowed sandles on your callused feet

Blazing sun never hotter

Militia rebels; we need to retreat

Stick like stomachs never full

Our homes are carried by sickly mules

All at once when our bruised bodies tire

And we can not move our weak bones

We will repose together around a scorching fire

Contemplating how we are never alone

Mulled, crippled, torn apart 

Our bodies may be broken, but not our hearts