https://soundcloud.com/ma56/the-spoils-of-war-written-by-darren-scanlon

And the troops go marching proudly by

as she wipes a tear from her weary eyes,

the one that she seeks, she will never again hold

for he died at his post; he was thirty years old.

The colours fly high on a cool autumn breeze

as man and boy march with well practiced ease,

so glad to be home after being so brave,

with flags overhead and not covering their graves.

She can bare it no longer as tears start to flow

down pale damp cheeks as she sways to and fro,

too much of their blood spilled on foreign fields

at the whim of the tyrants and their deadly deals.

Friends hold her up with compassion and love

and so many look down from the heavens above,

surrounded by many who share in her grief

but the feelings yield little by way of relief.

♥

And the…