Sometimes it’s like we’re just born to burn, to break, to feed the endless roaring engine of the world, the grinding capitalist beast with its endless hunger, chewing up boys and spitting out men, if we’re lucky enough to make it that far. War takes us, work chains us, the streets swallow what’s left, and it’s all one big swirling orbit of bodies and sweat and blood, feeding the gears, feeding the smoke. Wrong place, wrong time—what does it matter when the whole fucking system is rigged? You run, you fall, you rise, you break, but the wheel keeps turning, keeps pulling you in, and all you can do is suck it up and stifle back your tears because we're also conditioned not to show our emotions, to hide our weakness. All of us are just men... all of us are just meat.