I stand in front tears roll down my face,
they all had something to lose where I had not,
looking towards the graves with crosses on top,
my theory of a soldier doesn't cry is truly broken,
putting a flower on each of the 96 graves,
I look back at the 100 that remain and the 3 at my back.
She puts her hand on my shoulder for now she stands at my side.

She wipes away my tears and holds my arm close,
not afraid what the others would think she bravely smiles,
war is red and so is her hair,
though unlike many others she holds no regret coming along,
one question I have for her makes her smile,
My name is Joan Fira she will say.

Me and her stand on the hill though when she asks mine I simply say,
put your helmets on we march and walk away,
my mind is filled with shame how can I tell her I've no name,
the enemy stronghold stands in front of us,
inside is 450 men though farmers and untrained soldiers.

They rallied against our capital for setting two barbarian villages on fire,
I tell myself what we did is right though no matter how many times it never sinks in,
my prediction at first was right no amount of training can prepare one to take a life,
and right now I know this is not just another war.

We charge inside storming the walls my mace slams into the face of one,
my sword through anothers heart,
behind me I hear them pour down hot oil down upon some soldiers heads.

though not on hers for I jump in the way,
tears are in her eyes as I slip away.

Before my eyes close forever more I hear her say Red Is The Color Of War.