If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
--Last stanza of Rudyard Kipling's If
No more Heroes. Just the Dead.
The New War has no place for you. No place for the Idealists. For the Leaders. For the Gods. For the Heroes.
Let them all crumble.
Then, read them their Eulogy.
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