At the lowering of the flag,
and the rise of white,
let it not be mistaken for cowardice,
but may it be perceived as wisdom,
that my heart, a battleground
torn and riddled with blood and scorches
is now the blessed land of peace,
that all foes are in full retreat,
and the drums of victory loudly beat
and the shout of triumphal praise.

And at the going down of the bitter red Sun,
when flames smoulder, and hearts surrender,
I shall rest easy in the night, knowing, knowing
no more shots and thunder ring to my ears,
nor the tortured screams of twisted souls,
as the sun slowly sets in its ****** colour,
the fields of red and crimson,
are washed clean by truth.

Relief, the greatest sigh of relief,
that this land suppressed by fear
is liberated by an almighty host angelic
in all its glory, that with every rhythmic step
and every lyrical chant,
the enemy trembles and breaks,
no wait, they retreat.

And now, this scorched field of battle
bloodied and burnt, is restored by Christ
to beautiful fields of green and life,
trees, forest, Golden sunlight, skies of blue,
air of purity, and a life renewed, and improved,
rivers ebb and flow, trees creak and groan
as birds sing their songs, and the world is once
again alive and fully well,
this is my world,
this is my human soul.