Our flag flutters in the lonely sky,

Torn and stained; I remember the cries,

The new blood on their tainted blades,

Now silence has enveloped this empty glade.

Abandoned battlefield, forgotten fight,

Lucid ghosts weep beneath the morning light,

My weary hands clench the invisible sword,

Tired and worn but still loyal to my lord.

Beneath the sun beats our despairing flag,

Sailing in the wind; a worthless rag,

Is the hope we held and the pain we felt,

And the sickening agony we were dealt.

In my trembling hands I grasp the dirt,

Revealing blurry memories of blood-stained hurt,

In these hands, they died, my dear friends,

Drifting into dust, towards a dishonoured end.

I am too the frayed standard of past wars,

A living ghost with nothing to fight for,

Enshrouded in memories, a lonely soul,

The forgotten spirit of a forgotten goal.