They say war never changes.
But we would have carried our torch out into the wastes, and put it to the horizon, reigniting our country's dawn. We would have stamped out the fires that still lapped at the edges of its flag, swept away the ashes of old cities, and taken apart those quiet engines of war, to leave the earth as it was to those three pioneer tribes, and write our names into new scripture.
We would not only have changed war... we would have destroyed it, scouring it from even the hollow places, from the empty spaces between the stars. War... would be no more.
But they spoiled it, and planted a bullet in place of our seed.
If only any of us had seen it then. If only we had known our history:
Known that, in the end, a bullet and a seed are not so different.
After all... every war has to start somewhere.