And where did your scattered bones go?
Where the proud, the men
They're being crushed by rutinary ways
No purpose lies there
And that look in your eyes
Was it taken from you too?
The only true shame
is to never have fought
The true house of the Holy
Lies between ribs and lungs
And filthy scraps of bones
And that fort cannot be taken
just if their defenders leave
the Gates open, the house unguarded
given away for the pillage and plunder
So with no shame, the doctor asked:
Where did your scattered bones go, friend?
Thank you for reading!