Burning, from the fire, ashes are flinging.
Hours later cries are still ringing
Into the ominous dark of the night,
Beyond the measure of both depth and height.
On down comes the cleansing shower.
Flowing with a wondrous power.
Washing away the grief with the gore.
The remains of a battle like none seen before.

But never sleeping ghosts still whisper here,
Bestowing in the heart much anger and fear.
An army led needlessly to war,
By an evil King desiring more.

This was their fate though it hardly seems fair.
An order from a tyrant who didn't care.
On his throne he sits up high,
While his subjects march off to the place they will die.

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