One here, two there, the numbers do count, a fallen
soilder crawls across the ground. Over the bodies that
were once moving, past the faces he has long since
forgotten, into a safe place to hide from the battle
that rages on all around. That many have fallen to
lay on the ground, until the battle is finished and
the count is drown up. A dozen here, a few in
this spot, to the hundreds that scatter the field,
some on the same side, others are not, than
there are the ones to little left to tell. One
often wonders why we are taught some things
in school, thus algerba fines it's place in this war.