The roaming thunders' blow forever ceased,
We're dropped like sand beyond enemy lines
To seek and find and bring all the deceased,
Whose souls are crying loud to be released,
Whose minds were washed during their pointless lives.

We kindly grant them monumental glory,
We grant them our acknowledgement by death.
Their sweetness glooms in pro patria mori,
No one was saved to tell their horror story,
And we shall fill their smiles with emptiness.

However, there's no honorful cremation,
No burial among the greatest tombs,
No cheerful call, no vivid crowd's ovation,
That could those people bring to satisfaction,
That could give answers to their questions in their doom.

They gave their lives for others, but wisely those
Others forgot amending friends from foes,
And only poems now remain to be composed.