We bear her weight now. 
Though she is come to a place of love and true peace. 

And for love we bury. 
We burn and place weight upon all's heart. 

In infancy, the heat is felt. 
And a cold stare given unto a star above. 

A star unknown. 
To the pulp it's place is glowing. 

We pray and ask for love to return. 
We fight the war. 

And we rest. 
At night we weep and sharpen steel. 

To rise in dawn. 
In new shades, with new holds. 

From home we march into cities. 
Those to be unknown and forgotten. 

We leave the children's laughter. 
Place blood in hands and spill dirt on bone. 

To those with graves, we dig.  
We curse and find the roots. 

We struggle to breathe. 
The Earth becomes heavy, growing more with our breath. 

She was to be loved. 
And she was to live. 

For the lie, we suffer. 
Having never known her voice. 

Having never seen her gaze, we dream. 
And we see her with us. 

Holding us. 
Loving us all. 

We become selfish. 
And we stray from her. 

With image in hand we plot. 
And we wonder when our time to love will pass. 

It does not. 

So we fight her war. 

Hers of so long ago. 

Of a heartache so royal. 

And of a heartache so tainted. 

We place our bones in the Earth. 

We pay penance for our poverty. 

In our lacking we become numb. 

And there is none so lovely. 

There is none so pure. 

As we have read. 

As we have painted.  

We love her and died with her. 

Before birth. 

We curse the king which sold our maiden. 

We curse those which began our war. 

We pray for peace. 

For her and for you. 

We loved you.