the dark disaster broken by harsh light
patter of voices sound of running feet
these lives that ended they were not so sweet
that does not matter for we had no right
to trample these brief hopes in the hot night
ignoring the short cry of mi nu dweet
the blotless orders always seem so neat
not so the blood and ordure in our sight
the noble man no brute can't bear the blame
see how the sorrow weighs upon his face
adding it seems another dozen years
we will not think of yet another name
the one whose presence we can't seem to trace
who sums up all our terrors and our fears