Mother moon shines on the graves of the dead.
The graves of those who gave their lives instead.
She cries the tears that were left unshed,
and bleeds of our warriors' wounds that bled.
Their lives were taken in good, not in vain.
They were taken to save the children from pain.
Their wounds never close, and will forever remain.
And their memories fall in their tears of rain.
So we can't mourn for long for our loved ones.
For the children are free, and the war we won.
From the sadness of memories we must not run.
Because new lives and loves will rise with the sun.