Wretched War
His cry still lingers in my heart,
the sound clinging to my soul.
The memories flashing across my mind,
and that day he was taken away.
The memory, oh its still there,
pining away.
The pictures,
not able to been washed away.
War,
the horror it has,
taking my brother away.
By the river where the voices burn,
the rain falls sadly and silently down.
The nearby dying fire that burns,
is all that is left of the wretched war.
The steam and mist lift to find,
the shadowed garden within,
A dark, false light covers the place,
sealing the horrible sight.
The sounds and voices that contain no laughter,
echo through the empty place.
The hill beside,
sighs in pain.
The valleys swaying,
to the mournful music of the wind,
as it whistled quietly around me.
I stand in the endless seas of red,
that was washing all over the floor.
The pools of blood,
cover the fragments of fir and cypress trees,
that are spread all over the smoky ground.
The leaves rustle around me,
as the howling sound of the gust,
flow past, hauntingly.
The cry of my brother,
pines around the rocks of the nearby bridge.
The gunshots that were fired,
Echo among the stones of the path.
The booming of the faraway cannon,
still rumbles the earth today.
My brother,
now a memory,
still runs across the empty fields to his friends.
And I,
had just stood there on that day,
watching and hoping that it would stop,
but it never did.
The buzzing sound of the airplanes above,
buzz today like the bees.
The sounds of these things soon fade away,
but not the pain, sorrow, and memory,
of my lost bother.
His cry still lingers in my heart,
the sound clinging to my soul.
The memories flashing across my mind,
and that day he was taken away.
The memory, oh its still there,
pining away.
The pictures,
not able to been washed away.
War,
the horror it has,
taking my brother away
His cry still lingers in my heart,
the sound clinging to my soul.
The memories flashing across my mind,
and that day he was taken away.
The memory, oh its still there,
pining away.
The pictures,
not able to been washed away.
War,
the horror it has,
taking my brother away.
By the river where the voices burn,
the rain falls sadly and silently down.
The nearby dying fire that burns,
is all that is left of the wretched war.
The steam and mist lift to find,
the shadowed garden within,
A dark, false light covers the place,
sealing the horrible sight.
The sounds and voices that contain no laughter,
echo through the empty place.
The hill beside,
sighs in pain.
The valleys swaying,
to the mournful music of the wind,
as it whistled quietly around me.
I stand in the endless seas of red,
that was washing all over the floor.
The pools of blood,
cover the fragments of fir and cypress trees,
that are spread all over the smoky ground.
The leaves rustle around me,
as the howling sound of the gust,
flow past, hauntingly.
The cry of my brother,
pines around the rocks of the nearby bridge.
The gunshots that were fired,
Echo among the stones of the path.
The booming of the faraway cannon,
still rumbles the earth today.
My brother,
now a memory,
still runs across the empty fields to his friends.
And I,
had just stood there on that day,
watching and hoping that it would stop,
but it never did.
The buzzing sound of the airplanes above,
buzz today like the bees.
The sounds of these things soon fade away,
but not the pain, sorrow, and memory,
of my lost bother.
His cry still lingers in my heart,
the sound clinging to my soul.
The memories flashing across my mind,
and that day he was taken away.
The memory, oh its still there,
pining away.
The pictures,
not able to been washed away.
War,
the horror it has,
taking my brother away