Look at my hands. They're calloused, scarred, and normal. Would you imagine them capable of deciding whether a family sees their father again? I once created a life, and now I bring it unto an end. It's hard to believe just how things have changed. It seems like yesterday, I spent Christmas Eve away at my Grandfather's house... he took me caroling (even though I said I was too old). We gave all we had to the salvation army. But I'm no longer that child. My commands are simple, they read as follows: "Fire at each silhouette." I killed so I could live. It's hard to believe just how things have changed. Where's the honor on the front lines, while I spray them down with machine gun fire? It seems to me, the outcome is decided by technology. It's hard to believe just how things have changed. Hiding in trenches, I sit and wait. No heroics, no glory, no valor. Science now dictates the shift in power.
