Soldier Boy.
Don't give up, just stand and fight,
If they win, they gain the light.
"Throw those past sins away;
The saints are dead," he tried to say.
"The saints are dead, our Soldier Boy,
The sinners shot them and made their toy.
Bang, bang, bang, they killed them good,
We watched them die while you just stood."
An alien guilt appears as ice cold water,
Thrown on him by the remnants of martyrs.
They scream and weep and fall down from the clouds,
"You shall pay," shriek the ghosts, "Die like the Lamb before the crowds!"
Soldier Boy cowers and cries
As his once good friends look on while he dies.
Pinned to the cross he had once worn 'round his neck,
He bleeds ribbons while his hands tear and his body begins to wreck.
"The saints are dead, our Soldier Boy,
The sinners shot them and made their toy.
Bang, bang, bang, they killed them good,
We watched them die while you just stood."
And the citizens shout, "You must atone for your sins,
Our Soldier Boy, bleed out the lies and say 'sorry' for your supposed 'wins'!
The enemies have betrayed, infiltrated, and killed;
It's all your fault, our Soldier Boy, for failing to do what God had willed.
Pay for your faults, spill out your wine,
Soldier Boy, oh Soldier Boy, confess to your crime!
Dying is easier with a lighter chest,
Confessions make it easier to finally rest."
And Soldier Boy, with his final breaths, replies,
"I did no wrong, those Innocents were marked to die.
Their expressions betrayed the evil that lay asleep;
Their words: mere fibs and your pain: a treat.
Your God has forsaken you: those who kill
In His name; this is not His will.
You cannot smile or laugh or pray
For an unfortunate mortal that has infinite debts to pay.
Your hearts are blackened,
Your expressions blankened;
Your minds have become toys,
And your hatred pointed to me, a poor Soldier Boy."
His lungs give out as his veins run dry.
His heart stops beating while the tears he'd once cried
Turn red upon his open cut: a cross drawn
Crudely onto his cheek; the mark of God's pawn.
Silence befalls them all
As the corpse of their poor Soldier Boy begins to fall.
His hands still stay, nailed to the wood;
Eerily similar to the Lamb; insulting to the Lamb's good.
"The saint is dead, his name: Soldier Boy.
The sinners killed him, they were the toys.
Oh yes, oh yes, they killed him good,
They watched him die while waiting angels stood."
If they win, they gain the light.
"Throw those past sins away;
The saints are dead," he tried to say.
"The saints are dead, our Soldier Boy,
The sinners shot them and made their toy.
Bang, bang, bang, they killed them good,
We watched them die while you just stood."
An alien guilt appears as ice cold water,
Thrown on him by the remnants of martyrs.
They scream and weep and fall down from the clouds,
"You shall pay," shriek the ghosts, "Die like the Lamb before the crowds!"
Soldier Boy cowers and cries
As his once good friends look on while he dies.
Pinned to the cross he had once worn 'round his neck,
He bleeds ribbons while his hands tear and his body begins to wreck.
"The saints are dead, our Soldier Boy,
The sinners shot them and made their toy.
Bang, bang, bang, they killed them good,
We watched them die while you just stood."
And the citizens shout, "You must atone for your sins,
Our Soldier Boy, bleed out the lies and say 'sorry' for your supposed 'wins'!
The enemies have betrayed, infiltrated, and killed;
It's all your fault, our Soldier Boy, for failing to do what God had willed.
Pay for your faults, spill out your wine,
Soldier Boy, oh Soldier Boy, confess to your crime!
Dying is easier with a lighter chest,
Confessions make it easier to finally rest."
And Soldier Boy, with his final breaths, replies,
"I did no wrong, those Innocents were marked to die.
Their expressions betrayed the evil that lay asleep;
Their words: mere fibs and your pain: a treat.
Your God has forsaken you: those who kill
In His name; this is not His will.
You cannot smile or laugh or pray
For an unfortunate mortal that has infinite debts to pay.
Your hearts are blackened,
Your expressions blankened;
Your minds have become toys,
And your hatred pointed to me, a poor Soldier Boy."
His lungs give out as his veins run dry.
His heart stops beating while the tears he'd once cried
Turn red upon his open cut: a cross drawn
Crudely onto his cheek; the mark of God's pawn.
Silence befalls them all
As the corpse of their poor Soldier Boy begins to fall.
His hands still stay, nailed to the wood;
Eerily similar to the Lamb; insulting to the Lamb's good.
"The saint is dead, his name: Soldier Boy.
The sinners killed him, they were the toys.
Oh yes, oh yes, they killed him good,
They watched him die while waiting angels stood."