Now playing: ShtrafAll is lost, the forlorn hope is but an act of desperation, a sort of magnificient suicide. It is not killing yourself, its taking as many bastards with you as you can.
A forlorn hope is the last sortie, the bullheaded charge when doom is certain, when victory is a pipe dream, as much a placebo as a sugar pill. Its the the honey in your strychnine, the last girl you get before the chair, the last cigarette as you stare down at the firing squad.
Its sound is gloomy and ominous, its depressing. It doesn't want to be loved for its point would be lost.the forlorn hope if Rick telling Ilsa to go, even if he loves her. Its Mishima staring down at the razor sharp knife as he contemplates sepuku. The forlorn hope isn't black, it's tar; it's not red, it's scabbed; it's not white, it's bones. It doesn't care for politics, for race or sexuality, it cares not for the flesh; it's only comfort is that after it's personal apocalypse, nothing will be left.
The forlorn hope is a sacrifice, the gift of life, a boon onto others, who will never be able to give thanks to the giver, for the giver is dead.
We will pay the piper for you, as we send our children away to dance on his deadly tunes. The forlorn hope is neither joyful nor is it sad, it is fated to die so that others may live, may achieve victory. It's death has no glory, nor will it die easily. Its will march on to the Devil's beat, charging into the jaws of the Beast, that which lies deep in the heart of men, as the forlorn hope is the berzerker kamikaze on the war on the human soul.
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