The boys with their ploys
To protect their home
Some places they've never known
And some
Will never come home again
Redder than the blood that stains their clothes
It may not be the path they chose
But it's them
Who aren't coming home again
And on the field
Where they fought
Many fell
And others sought to live
But all they ever saw
Was the cold, red-stained ground
And they
We're the ones not coming home again
And it was their blood, redder than the sun
And it was them, who were overrun
And it was them, who wouldn't come home again
Marked on the walls, up ahead
Are the crosses, all so red
Redder than the dust beneath their feet
Is a hopeful sign, oh so sweet
That they just might come home again