Too many stones to remember and the people who will never be
This one won’t be a fireman
This one won’t be a nurse
This one won’t be a father
This one won’t go to church

Each stone is a reminder of what can never now be
All the hearts and minds and souls snuffed out before
They had the time to do needful things
Keep promises, mend sorrows, launch dreams
All now gone and forgotten every one

The grief of so many families and the sacrifice of so many folk
We claim to honor them by lying about what they died for
Because how ever noble their fight, the war didn’t need to be
The war was about money, about land, about oil, about winning
The war did not give a damn how many children died.

Every stone is somebody’s child.
And for every stone you see, on some further shore, there’s at least one more stone
One other mute reminder of another child who died
Trying to serve their masters, their ideals, their fears
These two are entwined in misery for all time.

This is such a sad legacy to leave to the children who survive
A cold stone is little comfort and seldom even teaches the lesson
That death is no reward
All the shattered lives and dreams and destinies never fulfilled
Over and over and over again, thousands at a time.

About quenyar

Just another bozo on this bus.
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