In this place where blood was spilled
A place where many men were killed
Each fighting for a dishonourable cause
Where some distant lord will take applause
And count his coin with treacherous hands
The price of death in foreign lands
Paid by the blood of fighting men
Who never returned to home again
Their bones restless in unfamiliar ground
Thrown together in a burial mound
No mourners there to vent their grief
Grass grows on the soil they lie beneath
But still there are those that mourn
In the places they were born
Where streets of smoke deny the day
And candles burn to light the way
Where some still weep and some still wait
Unable to comprehend their fate
Time sheds hope like a tree sheds leaves
Some live now only in their memories
As the world moves on they are left behind
Still searching for a love they cannot find
No tombstones stand, no flowers or wreath
Grass grows on the soil they lie beneath