I stand the silent vigil
with my brothers left and right.
A perfect dress-right-dress
keeps our columns long and tight.
We guard this sacred land
Our valor etched in stone.
One mothers sacrifice is made,
so that others may grow old.
I stand the silent vigil
with my brothers left and right.
In the company of the honored,
all are equal and upright.
Our numbers speak in volumes,
though our names do fade with time.
Our fight is finally over,
for our countries picket line.
I stand that silent vigil,
with my brothers left and right.
Our banners handed forwards,
the pennants marked in rhyme.
We stand at grave attention
as new brothers fall in line;
And take up silent vigil,
with their brothers left and right.
We stand that silent vigil
with all brothers on the line.
Some fulfill their duties early,
they are called before their time.
Those brothers that they've left
cherish memories tinged with guilt.
They are called to share our stories,
Even if it's once a year.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
I stand the silent vigil
with my brothers left and right.
A perfect dress-right-dress
keeps our columns long and tight.
We guard this sacred land
Our valor etched in stone.
One mothers sacrifice is made,
so that others may grow old.
I stand the silent vigil
with my brothers left and right.
In the company of the honored,
all are equal and upright.
Our numbers speak in volumes,
though our names do fade with time.
Our fight is finally over,
for our countries picket line.
I stand that silent vigil,
with my brothers left and right.
Our banners handed forwards,
the pennants marked in rhyme.
We stand at grave attention
as new brothers fall in line;
And take up silent vigil,
with their brothers left and right.
We stand that silent vigil
with all brothers on the line.
Some fulfill their duties early,
they are called before their time.
Those brothers that they've left
cherish memories tinged with guilt.
They are called to share our stories,
Even if it's once a year.
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