We sing our song, for the war has begun.
Uuu to surrender, Ooo to stab, Iii when we have won,
Eee to flee, and Aaa to shoot. For the war has begun.

Not winning, not dying; we lose our breath.
We sing until the last song approaches.
As our harmonies intertwine together,
We repeat Ooo Aaa Ooo Aaa Ooo Aaa Ooo.

The last song is over as everyone stops.
As a warrior speaks, everyone listens:
“We can make a million songs with the tune of one.
We can make a million songs with the words on one.”

“The last song is not the last, unless we want it to be.”
We think; as the warrior’s voice sings a new song.
Together, sides sing Uuu Iii Uuu Iii Uuu.
For we admit that by surrendering we have won.

Only by song can we end what started by song.
Only by loss we can end our reign of victory.
Only by right we can end all of our wrongs.
Only by choir we can end our solo careers.

Cleaning up the bodies; singing,
Each a different tune; each a different word.
Listening, we harmonize with one another.
For these new songs will never be forgotten.

Now, and forever more, we will tell this tale:
To the children who wonder, the warriors for the future.
Now, and forever more, we will tell this tale:
Remembering how the last song died today.