Oh, Sweet little krieger,
Do you recall the soft thistledown of Babicka's tender fruit?
Can you remember the blowing winds that turned the meadows from white to gold?
Is it still in existence in your mind the humming lullaby of your Mutter's song?
Sadly,
how can you?
When as you stare from upon the ground up at the sky with your eyes glazed with a thin film,
and your heart slowly takes over with a frightening peace of calm.

Oh, Sweet little krieger,
Where was your presence when the bombs burst through from the heavens?
What was your thoughts when crimson courage flowed in a sea onto the Earth?
Why was your hand steady as you held that inhumane machine and aimed?
Yet,
who were you truly?
As you were pulled from your life and placed upon a field with many amongst your own,
and you fought to survive, not at all like all others of your kind.

Oh, Sweet little krieger,
Do you know where you lay in the dirt and blood?
Will you ever close your eyes as they dragged you into a pit and buried you with all the others?
Did you ever recall something not of this hell, but of the haven of your home?
What was it that you were about to whisper to me before-
you were led to the pits of agony and redemption?

Oh, Sweet little krieger,
can you recall?