They call it a quest;
A quest for power, a quest for glory.
While body wrapped in debris, tells a different story.
With a land so barren;
And air filled with smoke.
A sea of orphan, and economy of broke.
With human life discounted;
And humanity out of stock.
Alive on wheelchairs, and only dead walks.
I ask;
Where is the glory, where is the power?
Where is the victory in this blood shower?
