Harkness: I’m capturing the subtext of the sweat upon the brow I’m building up the tension for the ‘where’ and for the ‘how’ If I can find the perfect word to fit this perfect hell Then I can sell the tragedy, and I can sell it well! Collie: (Scoffing) You’re selling wind and water, kid, you’re selling pretty lies There ain’t no "subtext" in the way a tired walker cries You’re scribbling in the margins while the Major holds the pen You’re waiting for a "chapter" that is never gonna end! Harkness: It’s a legacy! A testimony! Something that remains! Collie: It’s a eulogy! A mockery! It’s blood upon the plains! Both: (In harmony, growing louder) We’re walking on the bodies of the boys who came before A hundred little soldiers in a quiet, civil war You want to write the ending— (Harkness) I want to break the wheel— (Collie) Both: (Quietly) But the only thing that’s constant is the clicking of the steel. Harkness: (Feverishly) I’ll be a rich man, Collie. The world will know my name. Collie: (Low, dangerous) The world is just a crowd of ghosts who love to watch the game. Throw away the notebook, kid. Pick up a stone instead. One of us writes in ink... the other writes in lead.
