The pitch-black night Pervaded by a flare Holding atrocious scenes Of a moribund affair The setting Sun Salvation is the comfort of a grave Alas, this is the end You’re leaving earth with a soul so cold Behold the open sky Once home to a solitary dove You hear them approaching In the vastness above A murder of crows Sweeps a cloak across the land Where the defenseless men fell The murder does descend Lords of war grow fat on fury Among the slaughter of cultures That starve of hope The tormented cry of the falling soldier Will seem like a dead-silent scream All men are equal there