With the blackened night,
the marksmen take sight.

No time for regret, no time for glory
this is a soldier's untold story.

Hidden in the slithering shade,
the final stage of this cascade.

They are trained without fear,
creeping closer at the front, the sides and rear.

Shots are fired, many fall,
Only one remains, he stands tall.

Three to the back, one to the head,
he falls to the ground, and was already dead.

He was unarmed with white in his fist,
a flag of purity, it was hard to miss.

Now stained with the blood of the dead,
The marksmen were silent and began to dread.

Not a word was spoken, not a sound was made...
A pause of silence for the ones who stayed.