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