01-13-03 - 01:00
Bodies fill the fields I see, hungry heroes end.
No one to play soldier now, no one to pretend.
Running blind through killing fields, bred to kill them all.
Victim of what said should be
a servant `til I fall!
Soldier boy, made of clay
now an empty shell
twenty one, only son
but he served us well
Bred to kill, not to care
do just as we say
finished here, Greeting Death
he's yours to take away."
"On a gray horse he will ride. He is the pale horse rider. death will come in his wake. And with him will come the end of all we know.
