The raven’s beak runs red, and the soldier wishes he were not the last meal
The sky flecks black with their wings
There are moans
They will not last
There were fathers and sons, they are that no longer
Many men
Many dead
Many screams
Many Bled
The medics will live with the pain
The soldiers will live without limbs and peace
The flags will live beyond their breaths
And mean nothing to them any longer