'Tis, but another chance at unification,
against whomsoever shattered the peace.
We shall receive some compensation,
in how we gladly defend our beliefs.

Somewhere in the world,
generals in stoned poses.
Flying at half mast when unfurled,
against a sea of ribbons and roses.

'Tis but another chance at redemption,
holding onto the elusive dream.
No real sense of apprehension,
history repeats scene after obscene.

Somewhere in the world,
generals in stoned poses.
Flying at half mast when unfurled,
against a sea of ribbons and roses.

'Tis but a quiet Sunday morn,
comes a calling a well dressed brigade.
So many years ago a son was born,
now in gardens of crosses he is laid.

Somewhere in the world,
generals in stoned poses.
Flying at half mast when unfurled,
against a sea of ribbons and roses.