Standing in the woods, there is the echoes of the drums,
Ghosts of what once was, never truly gone.
If you stand quietly you can hear the shouts,
The sounds of battle of those who longed to go home.

The cries of men, no more than children,
Who were told to fight and were promised freedom.
The darnkess of the blood that spilled in the land,
And the shapeless bodies that could no longer stand.

There was once a boy, no more than seventeen
He was called in to fight, to fullfil his destiny.
He was proud to join in the cause, defend his land and home,
To fight for a country that wasn't completely his own.

As a soldier he faced his enemy and fought to win,
Covered in blood, dust and powder he kept going on.
But as night approached and the fight reached a halt
You could hear the cries of a more treacherous war being fought.

Life and death, stay or go.
The wound in his gut, too great to be won.
He curled in pain, just a boy who had never been kissed
And as he fell asleep forever, he dreamed he was home.