I've seen something strange in my days
Whenever war rears its ugly head
It is never the rich or strong that turn the tide
No it is always the weak

It is the family man,
The scrawny farmboy,
The mother of three,
The quiet daughter,

It is these that rise up
These that stand when no one else will
And heed the distant call of certain doom
So that those left behind

Might one day know peace