Through the darkness I stepped ahead, A throbbing pain in my heart and head, Cuts and creases, bruises and breezes, All of it, all of me, shoved in pieces.
Numbness, pain, gore in the skies above, Amidst the shrines of brotherhood and love, Bullets and cartridges, they cut through my skin, Leaving no traces of my last kin.
Oops! Această imagine nu respectă Ghidul de Conținut. Pentru a continua publicarea, te rugăm să înlături imaginea sau să încarci o altă imagine.
Someone's wallet, with a picture of a maiden, Timeless memories, now lost and faden, A turban, specially imported silk from the country of the rising Sun, A gold bracelet, all gifts from a loved one.
Centuries hence tell the tale of that April Sunday morning, And how a brunch turned into haunting mourning, War doesn't determine who is right, my friend, Only the one who is left at the end.
