When the waves crash over the planes
And the mountains engross dust at their peaks
The children of the field lay their rains
Upon callous lilies and rosy cheeks.
The painted ground is filled with the last soldier’s breath
When forgotten wars are left unspoken
The animal cages spark and ignite into death
And those who we’ve cried tears for are left in the token.
We split in two destroying our hearts
In the blissfulness of our Country we’ve waged wars not our own
Proclaiming violence and death as the fine arts
Leaving children with weaponry unknown to their nightmares alone.
When our footsteps seize to roar
We’ve lost the battle but never the fight
The children are buried on the last tor
And we’ve all died somewhere within the bight.
We’re leaking with insanity when the rain pours
Our mouths open catching the tears as they fall
Slowly and smoothly through the winds landing on fours
We’ve fallen from our adorn when black roses call
Our weapons have a blissful screech to their wail
A cry we’ve authorized to become our illusion of hope
Through the airs the ashes of love and peace sail
We will fail when peace and war elope.