Minister to them,
The fallen; intermingled colours,
Joined in death as an endless host,
Indistinguishable,
Red favours adorn them all,

Kindled light of hope,
Can catch but a few,
Leaving multitudes
In darkness to remain

What loss, what pitiless loss?
On this, the grandest stage,
The curtain of night
It fell without remorse,
Left for the birds and the things that crawl,
To do their work,
And clear away our shame.