Just because the sun is high,
And a lot of blood's been shed,
Doesn't mean that tears run dry,
Nor daily dreams are dead!
We fight not 'cause we love to fight,
But that we have to fight at times;
We fancied ne'er such scarlet sight,
Yet do long for the distant chimes.
Perchance one day this all would end,
And we would claim a victor none;
The worst foe yet becomes a friend,
And grasps the past the setting sun.
Well, as for now, you just hold fast,
To your life, knife, and wicked gun:
For every breath might be the last,
And every blow ends lives anon.
For me, beneath the starless sky, —
In pain—with needle and thread:
I'll sew all those who've parted nigh,
While crying o'er goodbyes unsaid!
Just because our hopes are high,
After streams of blood are bled,
Doesn't mean this current'd dry,
Ever; nor memories touch no restless bed!
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