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.