The whispers chant their haunting round
Filled in deeply 'twist all life's sound
Lost among the guns below
No creature can descry the thoughts
Of one who's soul is all but lost
Yet good nor evil shall you find
For kind of gun, death doth not mind
Amid the sorrow, bleak with snow
A battlefield, blue with tears
Red with blood, black with fears
War of hearts now swarm about
Souls dare not block their route
For fear of crimson lava flow
Peace.
Silence from the clouded skies
Among the turmoil, trouble, lies
Hatred holds no victor’s vice
When death seeps in all ends in ice
For blood forever freezes slow
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