Beforehand, I ask forgiveness to the families of my fallen brothers, for I am not here to honor their lives or to mourn their deaths. To honor their lives would be like describing works of art with mere words; and to mourn their deaths, like complaining to the gods about the inexorable.
I ask forgiveness to the families, for I have no words of comfort to give. I will not insult you by saying that the death of your sons, brothers, parents or husbands were worth it. No, it was not. I will not pretend either that the world is better because of their lives. No, it is not. If their lives were worth it — and I know they were — it was for every moment that they passed alongside their parents, brothers, sons, daughters or wives. If their lives were worth it, they were for what they did for themselves. For the combatant does not do what he does for anyone else, not even for the safety of his children. He does it because it is his nature as a Man, and not as a rat. Men see the absurdity around them and they act; rats hide. I assure you that my dead brothers were of the first species.
I ask forgiveness to the families for one last reason. Now I no longer address them, but I use their presence to get a message across. This message is not for the dead. I do not believe in the immortality of the soul. Anything immortal would completely lose the value for life, and I can not believe there is such perversity in the world. No, this message is for the living. It is for everyone here who considers himself a combatant and who wear the black. It is for you that I now address myself; and I do it here, before the families of our dead brothers, in the vain hope that you will come to see your shame!
What do you do now, Oh great Skulls, after the death of your brothers !? Will you drown yourself in alcohol, sex and memories? Will you retreat to the warmth of your homes and rejoice to be alive? Will you make yourselves blind with the haze of your evasion? Will you make yourselves deaf with the cries of your defeat? Maybe then you will be oblivious to the call to action. But there are no sirens here, gentlemen, do not worry; only harpies sucking the soul of your brothers on the battlefield. Answer me, Oh great combatants of this accursed city! For time urges, and the blood in my eyes distorts my sight. It seems like I see rats around me, but they wear black! They have skulls on their chests, guns, and scars all over their bodies, but I could swear that they are looking for holes where to hide. And is it not the nature of rats?
Stay there if you will, fallen combatants, for the hour of departure has come, and we must follow our ways: I, to life in death; you, to death in life. What luck will be the best, only the demons will know.