With each weary footfall
As we struggle with pain
Past the graves and markers
Of each avenue and lane
The victors armed heavily
Guns in their hands
To guard and to punish
When prisoners cant stand.
Eyes stare forward
Blank and disgraced
History is written
In each blank face
Thoughts not of tomorrow
Only yesterday lives
Blood splattered and lonely
Sorrow it gives.
No respite or hope
The miles take their toll
Dusty and painful
Each step is Hell
The wounded are left
To die by the roads
Stinking and rotted
Picked to the bones.