After the War

Fighting in the streets has stilled

‘Neath the reddened skies of morn;

Soon will truce and treaty be proclaimed.


Whether freedom bounds at will

Or in shackled bodies torn

Abides, we wait for word from distant lands.


If the ends be good or ill,

Still our lives continue;

Lands will heal and trees will grow anew.


Through the generations long,

One day there will rise a song,

All that evil is shall be unmade.

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