The Heroes go without parade, the only reward
Being death par a pen deadlier than swords.
A letter, a cake, a chocolat bar,
Cigarettes strewn before the confiture jar...
Nothing plus stands in remembrance of them:
The heroes, then children, forced to be men.
Death was their solace, their ultimate goal
But was justice worth the cost of a soul?
The boy in white sits alone at his shrine.
He can't predict where his loyalties align,
So he looks to the trinkets left from his friends
Who gave up their lives in untimely ends.
He is their legacy, alone bearing the pain.
For them he has donné his...
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