Have your fill, my son
The war has not been won
Let your lungs inhale smoke and dust
And feast upon this buffet

See what anger has bred
As on blood soaked dirt you tred
Know that songs of the lost will ring
Where silence was once the victor

Drink from this cup, my son
The time, the day, has come
For if you return, body, heart, and soul
You will not return the same