The fighting is over, the battle is won br Overhead the crows are gathering br The dead lay like a grisly carpet br Those not dead groan or cry and pray softly br Worst of all is the heart rending whimpering br Of men knowing they are about to die and are afraid br The victors celebrate in the great hall br With drink and food in plenty br Raising glasses to the glorious dead br What's glorious about it? br The losers, in chains, sit bemused br Trying to work out where they went wrong br Exhausted horses in the stables br Stand with heads hanging low br To tired to eat, barely able to drink br But Man will always find an excuse to fight man br For freedom, for greed, for religion, for love, for land br And though those that have won are glad br Relieved to be alive to see this victory br Yet at this moment, the only true winners br Are the crows that are now descending.