War

Oh how i wish that the day was over!
The soldiers could then walk back to the trench.
The sound of the empty shells gone sober,
It would be the time to go home, my friend.

And yet the land still burns, with the last vestiges of the war;
A promise to draw blood, by the keepers of the Dark.
And everybody seems to have forgotten, the small daisies smell;
That still grows in the war land, unknown to the dangers that dwell.
But for the sounds of the booming tanker, and the drumming of the guns;
That paint her little petals red, like the crimson rays of the setting sun.


Oh how I wish that the day was over!
The soldiers could then walk back to the trench.
The sound of the empty shells gone sober.
The lost shall finally go home, my friend.