Sanoja: Dirt. Other. Another Filled Hole.

A woman in a graveyard mourning for her son he gave his life to fight in a war he thought was fun. A bunch of yellow roses lay upon his grave but for all the tears she shedded no one can be saved. He traded his freedom for a uniform and gun, he traded in his brain for a life he thought was fun, he gave his country what it wanted, brave and strong, fresh blood, he gave himself a mortuary bed when it spilled into the mud. His father had once walked that path, but now he pays the price of a son who followed his steps and who lost his life, the telegram just noted of the bravery of their son, but was it a mistake that he was killed in action ? a woman in a graveyard, another day has passed and another son is killed in a war that for years will last, the bunch of yellow roses will always mark the spot, for a son who joins the army, his memory is forgot