On misty fields
stained with blood
once fighting soldiers
now lie still

faces and hands, open to the sky
not seeing, not feeling
dark, red, gaping holes
through which life has dashed
leaving survivors to decide
how many more will die

even as we speak
war is waging
on fields not far
a sword is ran through
blood flows from both sides
everyone sees, everyone knows
the wound won't heal
it's always in the back of our minds

For we are the living matter
overflowing with love and hate
we are the ones who cut
the ones who bleed
we are the wound
everyone feels the pain