We miss you
The morning after every day
The breakfast isn't at the table, you were a friend
A brother to me
You brought me confidence
Though you pushed me around
And away
Although thinking it was the end
If you say I'm short
How come you're tall Marco
You tell me I'm a friend, Hermanos, Spanish are thin
Although I did feel a little skinny instead
This is a poem about a brother and his fated end

Is he coming home too soon
Oh, brother, you left with no doubts
Somehow in letters, I want your hand
Too bad the other Germans they want your name
A psalm reassuring father will get better will do the deed
Indeed, you are quite sly
You died on the battlefield
Without me

And you'll be coming home too soon
As the soldiers draw out
You'll be coming home too soon
I've never had anyone quite like you in the family
We're married and mark it as the page to our dead