THE TOLLING OF THE DEATH BELLS

Too many fallen, needless slain,
too many to their death bed lain,
too many heroes lost in vain,
died for greed and a needless aim.

Too many slaved for Empire,
too many graves in the quagmire,
of wars ways, on battlefields pyre,
torn from the guns and bombs red fire.

And as the death bell rings,
the saints roll in their graves,
the Banshee to the moonlight sings,
for all those fallen brave.

And as the clouds all part,
and angels throng above,
to calm those warring, bleeding hearts,
and sing their song of love.

Too many to the barrel lost,
to many to that quarrel tossed,
to many to the serpent cast,
die in legions cauldron blast.

Too many by the cannons crushed,
smashed and blown apart to dust,
too many to the bombs, dead fast,
scattered to the wind for lust.

And as the death bell tolls,
another hero falls,
that peace of deaths release sure lulls
from raging fields it calls.

And so on angels wings,
to calm those storms within,
to warm deaths frozen heart, they sing,
of the eternal love they bring.

Too many to the powders blown,
too many to the elders flown,
too many to the yew tree sown,
too many to the knoll bells known.

Too many to wars toiled ground,
too many to that trumpet sound,
onward march, 'til death hath found
them, martyrs all, those fallen crowned!

SHOESTRING SHANE