On the crashing shores, of Okinawa are gathered,
American boys, going to make slaughter their master.
The Second World War, a frenzied struggle,
has parents worried, as they pray in a huddle.
The boots are stomping, iron heads bowed,
As solders pass by brothers, with ghost eyes toward clouds.
Lives that are lost, they've won their medals,
Bullet holes with ribbons, of crimson rose petals.
They salute the bodies, that sink in the mud,
Then they walk on, to shed their own blood.
"For God and Family! Freedom and Country!"
They all have their reasons, they all believe something.
"March on, march on! Wars don't win themselves,
When it's your turn to die, pray you die well."
So on they go, steady but not to fast,
They hope that this sun, will not be their last.
Over craters and hills, the somber group goes,
looking behind ruble, for the enemy to show.
"They've dug in deep." A quite voice says,
"Right underneath us, or just round a bend."
And when the bullets crack, they crack the bone,
Split heads and heart, turn married wives to widows.
"They're all around! Take cover my brothers!"
Screams a youth of 18, before his death brings tears to father and mother.
The bodies are thrown, like grass in the wind,
As a grenade is tossed, breaking dreams and limbs.
Their blood is the velvet, in their mud grave coffins,
They are lost and fallen, but never forgotten.
In 82 days, the island is won,
Lives that were lost, save those just begun.
In Okinawa, the heroes are buried deep,
So that we the people, our freedoms do keep.