Soft strung on mourning dew
Moon-lit nights stung, chasing you.
Evanescent upon thin waking lids
The pages burnt with nitrogen.

The aching echo, overbearing hollow
Dusty ash. An after taste.
Not tear enough to hardly swallow-
Or stomach left to try to sate.

The pillars-statues-all in our name
Bleached out hero's in history's game.
Naught plight enough to recall how human
Our blood-our tears-stained our face.

We legends born from pleading minds-
Broken spirits and battered limbs.
Who seek to finally cease the crime-
To bring back the light-wash out the dim.

Give our strength-are cast in shadow
To drive the ghost that haunt the land
Back to their own, bleak bloodied meadow
With our hearts-grasped tightly-in their hands.

The rest is but a washed out vision.
The lull of peace saturates the land.
But you and I have been ripped open and swallowed
As the lion now scarified to the lamb.