<font color="darkgreen">Gott weiss ich will kein Engel sein</font> -- Joining

Who in his lifetime is good on Earth
Becomes after death an angel
And you watching the sky ask yourself
Why can't you see them

Wer zu Lebzeit gut auf Erden
wird nach dem Tod ein Engel werden
den Blick gen Himmel fragst du dann
warum man sie nicht sehen kann

First when the clouds go to sleep
You can see us in the sky
We are afraid and alone

erst wenn die Wolken schlafen gehen
kann man uns am Himmel sehen
wir haben Angst und sind allein

God knows I won't be an angel

Gott weiss ich will kein Engel sein

They live behind the horizon
Divorced from us endless wide
They must hold to the stars [firmly fixed]
So that they don't fall from Heaven

Sie leben hinterm Sonnenschein
getrennt von uns unendlich weit
sie m�ssen sich an Sterne krallen [ganz fest]
damit sie nicht vom Himmel fallen

..Just call me Swastica, I have nothing else..

..My blood is but Dutch Warmblood, not that it matters now..

The dull grey is what paints my skin with dapples and too many scars to remember..

..I am a murderer, not a child carrier and not confused..

..I have seen 13 years of hatred..

..I am a notable 17 hands..

..Let me hate with a rage unknown. I no longer hate the impure, but all whoim come my way. Hatred is the disease that resides in my veins, and I welcome it as it is the only thing that fuels my heart. Which held by the icy grip of heartache I know will no longer love a thing again. Shattered faith I have and my a slim chance of looking upon the facade of another. I am arrogant, I am selfish. I am as ugly as those whom I persecute, and I know it. I don't rejoice in it, but I don't think I could ever change my ways. I am a robot, a minion. A shadow content with this disease. And as mighty Otep spoke, you will never see it coming because you never noticed me. I am neglect wrapped in an ugly grey wrapping paper. Too many slices cut through making it such an ugly gift to this world. But of all the gashes which plague my pelt like too many little mournful stories, the only one I will remember is the one of mine name. The awful carving in my hide, the left haunch in particular. And oh how my heart yearns to see it flagged in the winds like I did in olden days before the fire consumed everything, as well as my life and my happiness. But then, what would it mean? History repeated again? Always...always. History was a never ending cycle. There would always be hatred, there would always be murder. I was a leader once, I could soar beyond heights and conquer the world, but now I am but a fallen soldier, no different from the enemy. Except that the enemy is the hero and I am the murderer. See how this works? So what is my problem? I am nothing, I am cast away and worthless. Time is not mine any longer. I am just...just...a thing. A thing taking in the mute atmosphere of others whom could do so much more than I could with it. I am carvings in stone worn away, the historic building crashing to the ground only to make way for McDonalds. No, for those things people mourn. No...I am the Swastika. I am I...I am the Nazi Soldier, and in that there are many things wrong...in that everything is oh so very wrong indeed..

..I am reserved, far from this world. I should be dead along with the others. But instead my shattered soul yearns to continue on, as far gone as it has left this material body. Anchored the grown I've fallen into a deep pit of despair, guilt ridden upon my scarred hide, broken it seems. But come near me and I shall shun you. For I am sure that in due time I would come to hate you anyways. Why waste both of our time? Come closer and my rage will flare, come nearer and I shall strike. So please...leave me be. I don't know a soul that would believe me worth their time. I don't know a heart that could heal mine. Many have tried to prove, so little have succeeded. Look at me now, this symbol of hate. I am not worth it, can't you see? I am a cast away toy soldier, left by it's master. I have no leader, and in such, I am heartbreak and depression...regret without redemption*. But still, pity me not for I am a natural assassin, a massacre in action...oh...but please don't give up on me...

"Seig Heil! Seig Heil!" rang the mighty roar of the crowds, the drums rolling as the band jumped in for celebration unto the marching of so many troups for their people. Yes, their people would fight and conquer and become the greatest to rule in history. And around the bend another mighty roaring chorus came "Seig Heil! Seig Heil!" and rolling in an automobile came their f�hrer. A mighty man they all knew, and so they praised him as such. The grandeur of being in the momentum of the marching soldiers and the dizzying colors of the waving red, white, and black sent the crowd into frenzied state, wanting nothing more than to be the one most noticed by their leader. But little did they understand that they were all the same. All white and fluffy sheep, all the same. And their leader a wolf dressed in a shepard's costume. For that was what Adolf meant, wasn't it? Noble wolf? But as such days drew to an end, there was a stable unto where this leader retired, and to a 'mighty' steed he drew himself upon and rode through feilds. But like his people and how he turned his back upon them, he turned away from this faithful creature. But no where could he go, for the equine was not so important in these times of battle. And with this mark, this brand of hatred, he was limited to his leader's people. So to a Naze soldier he was given, offended for he was a gift. A grey package upon someone's doorstep. And those were the days he learned of the whip and the knife. The hatred he learned, but not towards the hand that beat him. He was like an attack dog, and through the streets he strode, his step jaunty and lively, but his dark and murderous gems no longer holding the glory when ridden by the f�hrer. Instead they held hate. Despising the hands held high and stiffly in the air as he led the march. But the day he snapped, the day he had had enough, was the day that a swastika decorated knife was painfully drawn over the brand he was once to proud to carry. The pain was awful. It was like the fires of the Holocaust drawn across his very own skin. Which, wasn't that pure enough for them? He was the greatest of the greatest! He bred good foals, who along with he himself were doused in ribbons. But now...now he had been thrown away. By his leader, by this murderer, and now he was one of them. The war came to him though; he did not start it. Shells fell from the sky, and the stables were set alight. He fled, not a care as to who might miss him, or what other equines survived. Away he fled, to Germany's open grasslands where he lived, traveling. But these travels led to horrors he thought did not exist. Perhaps it was the time he raised his skull the sky, which was doused in a hue as grey as he, and upon him he was flaked with little ashes. Ashes...but from what? Was the sky falling? Still so young and curious was he, and so he explored. People! People turned away just like he! Thousands he saw, all together! Dumped away like trash! Were these the forsaken that his f�hrer always spoke of?! Then he would be one of them too! For he had been thrown away, even though he was in perfect health. Even though he had done not a thing wrong. He danced in this raining ash. He wanted to be a part of these outcasts. He knew they had a place, just as he might. For even as they burned in a flame created by their own, it was not hell. And certainly they would not burn in hell. The 'enemy' came. This hero of sorts. And it all seemed to pass away. His dark orbs did not hold joy like the freed did though. Now they would have a place, and he would not. He would still remain an outcast, but this time alone. He watched in a stall once more with jealous eyes as they made themselves a home of where they were so roughly pulled from. And a hate for both his own and them grew. How could this be?! Why couldn't he be loved as well?! Now they had a place, the Nazi's outcasts, but none he had seen. All except for himself. And to the dark corner he looked, little did he eat. For an 'ex-outcast' would not touch him. They were afraid to for numerous reasons. And soon everyone was. But not a word of ridding themselves of his presence occured till the stables was sold, and he too was gone along with the rest of them. To a home he went. A small one, with a pony and a young lady. Far from them he stayed, an old oak becoming his only companion out in the wide open feilds. A young colt was bought by the people, and he too learned to leave the scarred one alone.

It was that one night he learned how to love again. It was that rainy cold night, when he met a little girl. Not just any little girl, but a human. He had not seen her, as low to the ground as he then lay. And she came sneaking upon him in the late hours, the full moon bright, and beacon guiding her to the broken steed. A shiny thing outstretched to his gashed muzzle startled him, and that's when he saw her in her little scarlet coat. He had been so caught off guard, that he hadn't had time to let hate settle in. He didn't think, simply acted. Nares flared wide, taking in the scent of the delicious thing. And nibbled softly upon it. His midnight orbs held not hate or malice, simply an odd curiosity. And when she urged it by bumping it to his limps he fell under the pressure, nibbling tenatively, his heart suddenly light, and then he crunched. And his soul beamed with a feeling he had not felt since the days he carried his leader down hidden pathways, unknowing of the world his leader had thrown into chaos. But now all that didn't matter! This was here and now! No more guilt! No more hate! He had someone! He had a place to be! Harks flicker fowards, a joy shining in his orbs, and he nickered to her, or at least tried to. He tried once more, his neglected voice struggling. He enveloped her near with his mighty skull, nuzzling her lovingly, a nicker finally deciding it could make it past his lips. And an amazing thing happened. Upon his back she clambered, and high he stood, proud as though he was carrying a mighty creature he was proud to be honored with. Standing alert and calm, a change like no other fell upon him. And he walked her all about that night, showing her the stars, letting her nap. And the best of friends they became. He was taken to the stables, and tacked up in the fine smelling leather. But only the little girl in the scarlet coat was allowed to do that of course. No one else. Near her he was a puppy, but to others a monster. The rain poured months later, the day before the girl's show where he promised to win her many prizes. But the rain, it poured so heavily, and she had not withdrawn from her quarters for days. Was there something wrong? Out strode a figure with that rope and halter, and near he stood. This must have been the small one's father. Nares flare distrustfully, whuffling as his calm words came to his harks. Stepping away, his mighty crown held high and dignified manner. The man seemed to say "Come, please. The others are not well and we must take your little girl to the hospital. Please boy, this is for our girl." On and on he tried to convince the nazi, but he was already on instinct, pawing viciously at the turf. Nearer still the man drew, and more violent the steed became. Until all too close was the human, and the murderer struck out one sharp dagger, sending the fool to the turf. The stag's occules were wide, a fear consuming him. What had he done?! Pacing as the human lifted himself, his arm hanging limply at his side, he looked as though he was to soon shed tears. "Please boy..we need you" he still spoke. Forever the bronc seem to mull the thought over in his head, finally able to think, but not clearly enough. Jittery, muscles twitching clearly beneath his scarred pelt, he dropped his cranium, allowing him to halter the stag. And to the house he was led. Upon reaching the facility it was too late. The dam running from the home, tears streaming down her cheeks. You could see the agony even if it was dark and raining. Drawing swiftly away from the female as she hugged her beloved, his nares flared nervously. What was too late?! What?! but it didn't matter...he was just here and a part of something, but left on the outside and looking in as always. Harks lay back tightly against his scarred crown, lashing out and rearing high in frustration. What?! But his anger and confusion would be answered with months of silence...and a hedgestone near his tree. Oh how he wanted to just die. It was all his fault she was gone. If only he would have listened...if only...