Hushed be the battle cry, the trumpet's song,
Here come our dead boys, here they come along.
Marching down the street with their heads held low,
Blood stained combat boots and PTSD in tow.
Hearts bowed and humanity torn,
The ones who didn't make it aren't the only ones to mourn.
War is savage, dark, cold, gray,
But not once did they hesitate, not once did they stray.
Fingers on triggers and a salute to the country,
Lavish awards to hide the monsters they'll be.
Pride so high and the civilians will rise.
War is a game but the winner gets no prize.
I see my dead boy, I see his fight.
The brightness that once was now holds no more light.
He gave his heart, he gave it all,
Crash and burn, the rise and the fall.
They have glassy eyes and souls in a dome,
But thank goodness our dead boys are coming home.
