Moonlight sweeps over the golden rounds,
A forgotten land, the gravestone mounds.
The men, they come and leave the same,
Their footprints heavy in the falling rain.
The mist it keeps growing, obstructing our sight,
All I see is destruction in the failing light.
I can't remember what we started it for,
This threatening danger, the overrated war.
In the night, the moon weeps for those who are dead,
With no sign of a tribute and no names to be read.
In the future will the hand be more wary of the deed,
And will we all just say prayers those who are in need.