A gift of sorrow,
Who knows what’s inside?
A soldier a box,
Who cares what’s inside?
Ready.

He’s there in the front line,
With his rifle at hand
And hid brother beside,
He is ready.
They are ready.
Ready to die…

A box,
A plain old box,
After all they’re all the same,
Who cares what’s inside?

Unless,
Of course,
If the box is yours, a gift,
Whats inside?
Bellows your inners,
With excitement and true joy,
But why?

Because the box in yours,
That striking, so beautiful box,
Like an angel swirling down from the azure sky,
Cradling the fallen,
The unfortunate who die,
And its inners are yours,
To keep-that’s why!

A soldier, a man,
A man, a box,
Dull and lifeless,
The box that’s tossed out there,
Onto the battlefield, with no love or compassion.
Tossed.

After all…
Who cares what’s inside?