On an ashen battlefield,
Near a sword lodged in the ground,
Carrying a battered shield
The weary soldier marches home.

His sword is stained with blood,
His heart is a gaping hole
To be filled with a sorrowful flood,
The weary soldier trudges home.

A cleansing rain washes the tears
That form for his fallen friends,
They died on their own spears
And the weary soldier walks alone.

The darkness changed his allies
And turned friend into foe,
Refusing help for emotions awry
The weary soldier grieves alone.

In his heart courses the bane
That slew his fellows, all and one,
A blackened poison that kills fain,
The spent soldier mourns alone.

Alone by the hearth, ignorant
Of the ears waiting to listen to his tale,
A knife in the dark, brilliant,
The sapped soldier grieves no more.