Come with me, for there is a place long forgotten, buried in the sands of time.
A rotting concrete barricade was the tombstone of this ghostly outpost.
The hot white wind whipped up grains of sand, slowly eroding away this dying spot.
Oh how mother of time have done her work.

Come with me to where the sun masterfully paints the fading skies with fiery orange, watch it‘s art on this dead place.
Oh how the sands used to be red, piercing wounded faces who cried so often.
A rusty steel rifle laid on the ground, resting forever.
A red sign, in a familiar language stop, and unto it was carved I want to go home.
Nobody wanted to remember this place, as this hellish ground refused to recognize itself.
Oh how this place has died, oh how the rust of time have taken it’s toll.

Come with me to the forgotten roadsides where the fragrance of once was remains.
The fragrance were whispers of the dead.
Sweet yet salty, the fragrance of the air lingers and dances with the smell of rust with the skies slowly turning night.
The small wooden building slumped and have given up.
The windows broken, the wood ashen, a lonely rocking chair on the porch swayed back and forth, back and forth.
Oh how people refuse to remember.

Come with me to where tears and blood were shed and brothers were lost.

Amongst the rubble, the rust, the building, the sign, and the concrete barricade a massive and horrifying line of worn spit shine boots and amongst each one a worn rifle, a fading helmet, and bent metal necklaces that told stories of the fallen.

Come with me,
Come with me and remember the lost brothers.