I have a song about war, called The Cold Days of February.
The Cold Days of February
At writing words strange and steady
Amongst my own internal choir
Came voices to my mind unready
Of those who died on either side
Of those who died on either side
While their friends cry or their bones unburied
No sighing through the northeast wind
These cold days of February
Some clerk with papers and his pen
Some banker with his poison pity
Some clerk with his poison pity
Some captain careless of his men
And these vandal flames that maim the cities
And bigots in the name of Christ
By far they pass
Obscure and muddy
And these cold days of February
By far they pass

Can appear to roam
Through years of old
Bewailing how
Their hands are bloody
Their quickly
Their slowly
PUTS them at rest
And their movement temporal
Reminds men of work
And they wipe them out
Ew
많이
졧�른
Now whether they were from here or there, their race and place I would not be leading.
The men who caused such bitterness, and if not they have let their hearts be bleeding.
Only the four-aged or the young child,
would attend to me,
for there she out of the arms decreed,
go bear the guilt of weary ways.
Parting all the days,
a memory.
Thank you.