Throughout my life I've lost my soul but once
And that only because I was a fool
The difference 'tween the scholar and the dunce
Is that the scholar questions every rule
But in the heat of battle, none apply
And at the heart of chaos, no one thinks
So should an Aisling live or should he die
Leaving a bloody cup from which death drinks?
Such questions during war unanswered lie
Such thoughts, like mortal enemies, do fall...
Dissolving as the casualties cry
Swathed tightly in a crimson funeral pall.
Why do we learn to be the men we are
When all is lost within a single scar?