Body after body fell,
Bullets, blood a picture of hell.
Starving ground reached for the dying,
to many deaths, so much crying.
Groups of men marched off to war,
Determination pulsing from their very core.
Now, hundreds of notices
replace those lively soldiers.
A few tattered tokens is all they have left,
Of the men they loved more than like itself.
Haunted eyes, broken hearts.
Funeral after funeral.
Where did it all start?
A piece of land for a thousand deaths.
Agonized screams,
Ruthless shouts.
Stumbling over dead,
the air thick with dread.
All of this horror,
and for what?
Freedom is important,
I understand.
But what about all that land?
