Ashes on the wind

Blood on the hills, blood on the skies,

Red ran the rivers, red burned the eyes.

We turned our children into blades,

Sent them marching into graves.

And the drums beat low, and the drums beat cold,

Through the fields where the brave grew old.

Now children dance where the bones still lie —

They don't know,

They don't know,

They don’t know why we cry.

We fought for crowns made out of lies,

Built our thrones on mothers' cries.

Drank from the wells of broken men,

Said we'd never fight again.

But the drums beat low, and the drums beat cold,

Through the fields where the brave grew old.

Now children dance where the stones still sigh —

They don't know,

They don't know,

They don’t know why we cry.

We are dust, we are names washed away,

Ashes on the wind, never meant to stay.

And the drums beat low, and the drums beat cold,

Through the fields where the young grow bold.

Now children laugh where the dead still lie —

They don't know,

They don't know,

They don’t know why we cry.