Every sunday she visits his grave.
Puts down a rose on the stone so cold.
Without him she feels so alone she sais.
Only grief and sorrow in her face so old.
Twenty years went by since he left her alone.
No happiness since, in her eyes so blue.
To the war in the east he went, marching proud.
Fighting for her life, for his love so true.
No one knew, back then, that there was no truth.
The war, the fight, the struggle, a lie.
Millions like him went on, to the front.
Just to suffer, to fall, to break, to die.
When the war was over, no victor emerged.
Only money, power, oil and control.
All the people finally opened their eyes.
Cried out the pain of the fallen soul.
The rebellion began, swept aside the lies.
Chased away those in power and control.
Started rebuilding their lands with open mind.
Mourned the loss of life, the loss of soul.
Every sunday she visits the grave.
No feelings but grief left in this yard.
No joy, no smile in twenty years.
Just a lonely rose at the grave of her heart.