The Battlefield Speaks To The Crimson Sea
Wondering If The Heros Are Still Fighting
The Sky Whispers To The Fiery Battlefield
Telling It The Pilots Are Still Flying High
A Myriad Of Years Tasting Pain, Hearing Prays
And Seeing Blood Flip-Flop Onto The Auburn Soil Like Rain Onto A Window
Nights And Days Cries Of Children And Wails Of Adults, An Unending Orchestra
In A Heaven That Awaits Peace And Freedom To March Home
The Last Rumba, Yet To Begin And The First Musical Pulse, Yet To Be Heard.