Because Our Hearts Were Black

Even though I'm not a soldier, everyone hears the tales of war.

The sirens scream,
a fearful wail,
that shakes the air like thunder.
To arms, to arms!
The cry rings out.
We may yet see six feet under.

The drums will beat
to stir the blood
of men with hardened souls.
The yell will sound
from deep within
those of the brave and bold.

Gun-fire will roar,
the cannons boom,
and smoke will streak the sky.
Men will gasp
for their last breaths,
but not a one knows why.

The bells will toll,
for death surrounds,
the time is drawing near.
For every boy
must become a man.
They are forced to out of fear.

The sparks will fly
and light the night
so every eye may see;
the bitter cold
of one man's heart
can affect the royal we.

And in the morning
when fewer rise
to greet the light of day;
the soldiers left
will all be men,
who may not live to say,

That all of those
who've fallen here
are never coming back.
Look at what was created
because of our hatred,
because our hearts were black.