Cut from the same cloth by scissors of hardened steel.
Boiled in the cauldron of bubbling blood.
Borne forth upon the highway of broken bleaching bones.

The conquerors come.
Different name,
Always the same.

Glory, justice, honor and god,
Truth, freedom, liberating tide.
Country, family, home and hearth,
These are the tales the historians lied.
Straight faced...
    ...without so much as a snicker.

What glory in old men's broken hands?
What justice in stolen wasted lands?
What honor in puddles of baby's blood?
What truth in an indifferent god?