Common men leave their families behind,
Tears fly, staining hearts,
To the war they must hand over their lives,
Death guides them to the train,

Gazing out to the land beyond,
Memories shoot across the sky,
The sun blinds them from the distance,
Death sits by the soldiers,

Armed with grenades and ghastly guns,
Their trembling hands caress the cold air,
Waving to the camp drifting away,
Death follows shortly behind,

Shouts are silenced with explosions,
Crimson contaminates the mud,
An eerie fog awakens souls,
Death stands with them hand in hand,

Even though the war has past,
Many cripple with mental scars,
Those who have won are not winners,
Death plays around with their mind.