Tokens
A flag draped box on titanium stand
Bears all that remains of a noble man
A father’s pride, a mother’s grief
A widow’s tears without relief
A son whose memories begin to fade
As the soldier is solemnly laid
The torment a brief eternity
Brought by war infernally
Driven by other men’s desires
We raise yet more funeral pyres
And watch again our young men go
Though some may not return we know
How long shall we pay this bloody toll
With tokens made from our own soul
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