Do you remember that poor soul, you satanic consumption, the innocence you so gladly lure?
The babe upon which ignorance once graced?
His hands were weak and his muscles untested, mind and body where once pure.
And now, so many years later, he hath no more room for will to be faced.

Days undone by slipping tides. His actions shadowed by a hearty cause.
His mind is dead and soul far gone, not even our father dareth embrace.
And his heroic actions bring about a worldwide pause.
The child's memories go erase.

He is different, though mother, father.
Fighting for something valued more than gold.
His life is a promise, a protector, living for something grander. He doth not smother.
Painful tears that mark the man more human then most, heart holding more then cold.

Eyes that stand witness can only see
The sin of war that dealt within the hands of the dead.
How can monsters of horror ever continue to be?
And live without the fear and dread.

Human nature holds the error.
Time and time again we fall.
The world that held such promise consumes its own terror.

And time again we call.
War, the game of fools to play and enjoy.
Showing off its clashing teeth.
Calling forth our bravest pieces to employ.
It fills our hearts with its sinful grief.