He marched believing right was near,
That justice stood beside his gun,
A soldier shaped by flags and words,
Convinced his cause was honour won.

Yet somewhere far from shattered fields,
Men gathered calmly, dressed in black,
Drawing borders, signing names,
While young men never journeyed back.

War did not rise from earth itself,
Nor from the stars or human blood,
It came from moments, choices made,
From pride that turned the world to mud.

And those who carried war’s great weight
Were often those with least to say,
Still haunted by decisions made
In rooms so very far away.