Ash on Their Medals

[Verse 1]
They pin the metal to his chest
Still shaking from the blast
Powder in the lines of his fingerprints
Burnt hair in the cast
A boot print dried in burgundy
On a scrap of childhood shirt
He stands straight over folded flags
Knees trembling from the hurt
[Chorus]
These are the honors of war
Names etched into a cold black stone
A toast in a bright white hall
To the ones who never come home
Raise up the glasses
Over photos framed in black
These are the honors of war
You don’t want them back
[Verse 2]
He smells iodine and gasoline
In every crowded train
Sees teeth in gravel parking lots
Every firework is rain
They carve his rank into the marble
As if that makes it right
A mother kisses a frozen picture
Bites down on her own cry
[Chorus]
These are the honors of war
Speeches read from a crumpled sheet
Applause like distant thunder
Rolling over empty seats
Ribbons in colors
Trying to dress the lack
These are the honors of war
You don’t want them back
[Bridge]
What if the honor
Was never to need this grief
What if the brave thing
Was learning to choose belief
Belief in a table
Where enemies set knives down (set them down)
Belief in a silence
Where no guns answer sound
[Chorus]
Let this be the last of war
Let the granite gather moss
Trade the shine of a hero’s cross
For a life that counts no loss
Raise empty hands now
Turn every banner slack
If these are the honors of war
We don’t want them back
We don’t want them back

Cinematic dark thriller ballad; deep male vocals over tense low strings, distant war drums, and pulsing bass swells. Verses stay hushed and close-mic’d, with ticking percussion and dissonant piano stabs. Chorus widens with mournful choir pads and heavy tom hits, then strips back in the bridge to a single voice and drone, building to a final, cathartic plea for peace with layered harmonies and a soaring string rise.