The pitch-black night
Pervaded by a flare
Holding atrocious scenes
Of a moribund affair

The setting Sun
Salvation is the comfort of a grave
Alas, this is the end
You’re leaving earth with a soul so cold

Behold the open sky
Once home to a solitary dove
You hear them approaching
In the vastness above

A murder of crows
Sweeps a cloak across the land
Where the defenseless men fell
The murder does descend

Lords of war grow fat on fury
Among the slaughter of cultures
That starve of hope

The tormented cry of the falling soldier
Will seem like a dead-silent scream
All men are equal there