Along the crisp byways that lead North you will find me
ambling away the afternoon on a drifting chorus
or an echo sliding along the sorrowful expanse of hills
huddled against the horizon, fear in the drift of evening light
a blade fell upon the land and carved it up
as looks of vagrant horror cross the faces of the village
Identity became important and so the people gathered to listen
and as the meeting progressed and real life took notes
this attempt to accumulate wisdom was accredited to enemies
we are separate people with different interests
as the dead bird carries the message and
as the flags burn their identifiers across the land
it is children we sent to fight and die so we can call it our own
lest we forget? Their parents drowned in decadence and their children will
get lessons but what of the children of our enemies
what have they done?