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Pale colors
Pale colors beat in the wind
winter chills her men to the bone
as foot soldiers march on
they march on into areas unknown
The battle zone they leave
They leave stained red
They march on to fight
Leaving their own dead
Marching on through the foothills
stained by rage
stained by hate
all by the war they wage
Burned towns
Blackened snow
Rivers run red
With the blood of those laid below
The men pray
For the end
For the white flag to wave
For the land to mend
Some pray for salvation
Some for their lovers
Some for themselves
Some pray to recover
Some pray for Europe
Stained eternity red
By the acts of cruel men
Europe who weeps for her dead
Years pass
Men return
The blood has dried
bodies no longer burn
But the land is stained
The ghosts of the innocent
walk through the cities
and weep as their imprisonment
In a land
Where the ghosts of cruel men
still walk
waiting to strike again

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