With a fighters heart and a dreamers head,
So proud they leave, returning dead.
So young, pushed through this mindlessness,
of some greedy Kingdom's selfishness.
One hundred soldiers, one hundred lives,
In time will only ten survive.
And those surviving this thoughtless fight,
lies restless in this scarlet night,
with empty words and lifeless eyes,
with hands still red from lives they've taken,
those haunting images passes by,
and leaves them scared, regretting, shaken.
A young girl cries "let them be home soon",
as a soldier prays to the same red moon,
and years go by as mothers wait,
for sons to come back home again,
gazing out the window,
like the widows for their missing men.
And the soldiers surviving this battle of pain,
are awake in the night going slowly insane.
Haunted by insomnia with
nightmares of a stranger,
echos of abandoned children
neglected in this danger.
As hundred leaves, returning ten,
grieved by the loss of a ninety dead men.
