I am not life, I am not death,
I ask you who am I?
I am the birth of dieing lives,
The grave of living born to die.
I am the crib of breaths of new,
Six shadowed feet beneath the ground,
I am the end of children’s song,
Sung silently, heard not a sound.

And the colours fade from all of eyes,
As last young hearts bleed final cries,
Tears drain away to a black and white world,
Lost in war’s stream of eternal goodbyes.

Empty now of hearts of love,
But full of empty shells above,
Tears begin to fall in place of rain,
Cleansing souls of children slain,
For there’s nothing left now, not a sound,
Death walks upon his burial ground.

And to this very day we shall always remember,
The demise of our youth, on that silent November.
 
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