Nonpoints, “Frontlines,” carries you into the desert, crawling through the mud, into the belly of fear right alongside that marine that chose to be there, has to be there because it has to be done. It’s worth fighting for, it’s worth dying for, it’s freedom and everything that’s right. It’s knowing you might not make it back but doing it anyway with your heart in your throat, your pulse pounding, and your stomach twisting. That marine is going all the way and won’t look back, won’t regret a minute, not a second, of his life, of his choice because he’s giving it to others, to you. For anyone who has gone overseas and faced the beast, for anyone who has watched someone go, for anyone thinking about this path, listen closely, close your eyes, and picture hunkering down in the sand with a rifle in your hand, buddies at your side and at your back, everyone struggling to keep their lives on track, pictures tucked in their pockets of that someone who’s everything at home, maybe a cross hanging on their necks, whispering a prayer that they’ll make it back, dog tags rattling against their chests. Hold on really tight.

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Nonpoints, “Frontlines,” carries you into the desert, crawling through the mud, into the belly of fear right alongside that marine that chose to be there, has to be there because it has to be done. It’s worth fighting for, it’s worth dying for, it’s freedom and everything that’s right. It’s knowing you might not make it back but doing it anyway with your heart in your throat, your pulse pounding, and your stomach twisting. That marine is going all the way and won’t look back, won’t regret a minute, not a second, of his life, of his choice because he’s giving it to others, to you. For anyone who has gone overseas and faced the beast, for anyone who has watched someone go, for anyone thinking about this path, listen closely, close your eyes, and picture hunkering down in the sand with a rifle in your hand, buddies at your side and at your back, everyone struggling to keep their lives on track, pictures tucked in their pockets of that someone who’s everything at home, maybe a cross hanging on their necks, whispering a prayer that they’ll make it back, dog tags rattling against their chests. Hold on really tight.

Categories : Uncategorized