Floating Upon Wings of White

Floating upon wings of white.
Wondering why we must fight.
Praying, living, dying, dead.
On this battlefield hundreds bled.

Grounded now with wings of gray.
As this fight goes on I must pray.
I pray that I must take lives no more.
For I hate this curse that I've bore.

I sold my life I sold my soul.
I was taken beneath no longer whole.
I pull this curse in tow.
As I watch men sit on death row.

These men's souls will burn in hell.
I watched these men as they one by one fell.
The sound of death is now blaring.
Bombs going off, rockets blaring.

Buried now with wings of black.
The posses the things these men lack.
They lack their souls.
The price of war as it takes its tolls.

My wings are no longer worn.
They are completely gone, ripped and torn.
I now herd the dead.
Listen to them curse the lives they've led.

Maybe some day. I'll get my white wings lack.
Give back the men the thing they lack.
I'll soar again on wings of white.
And never again have to fight.

~DragonStar