The Echo

The echo cries because of death
Of million slaves. It holds its face
With cold hands. In empty days
We need someone who has the faith.
 
The echo cries but tries to be
As strong as men which died for thee.
It's hard to kill. It's hard to hear
The soldier's words: "Please, God, help me..."
 
The echo cries, comes through the night
Assuring us that war was right,
And sees the pain, the man which lies
On bleeding grass and seems alive.