It was cold, and dark on the battlefield. She remembered that much, at least.
Of course, she remembered the worst parts. The detached, taunting glint in his green eyes, full of hatred. The bleeding men- or boys, should she call them?- lying dead and dying for both sides.
They were crying when their sons left,
She saw it. The sobbing mothers and proud fathers as they lost their sons to their country.
God is wearing black
She knew, though, that the fight was hers alone. Hers to fight against her brother. Arthur.
All young men must go
The familiar ache in her heart that she tried to ignore. Memories without warning began to bloom.
He's gone so far to find the truth and he's never coming home
A young boy with blonde hair. Asking where Mother had gone. Crying when he realised she wasn't ever coming back.
Young men standing on the top of their own graves
The steady heartbeat in her ears. Her own.
Wondering when Jesus comes, are they going to be saved
"Time's up, Erin. Goodbye. For ever."
"You wouldn't dare, Arthur. You wouldn't." The Irish girl stared at him through her ginger ringlets.
"Oh yes, I would. You wouldn't believe the things I could do, my dear."