Flowers grow in fields so green, where in the past war was seen,
Men shot to pieces by machines of fear, loved one’s left to shed a tear.
Children left with desperate mothers, dead are the fathers, sons, and brothers.
Many of them never found, bodies scattered ore the ground,
The soil drew in the streams of blood, and to the flora it did flood,
Flowers grow in fields so green, nourished by mans blood not seen.