Attrition

With these ways I behold
Tales of deep seated woe
Of torn capacity to love
Beneath the steel housed above.

But now the trench has grown cold
With death's bile and lost souls
The dead export still
The rank they had at their kill.

The armour's quiet for our eyes
Their movement only for lies
Yeah we were lucky we lived through the lies
Where gilts of love was despised.

Cadavers locked in love
Contorted from the mud
His head tests his mate's own strength
No time for tears for the dead
And now he is grown cold
Never to grow old
Oh lucky fate hit him
Lucky it was him.

Cadavers locked in love
Contorted from the mud
I saw a picture from the way
A war that my brother saw
A body twisted grim
The smile that said it was him.