Grenades were placed round our necks; like adornment.
The sounds made from our claps was the only tune we're familiar with.
Bullet sounds were our drumbeats.
For the unknown people—who knew nothing about us —
we lay our lives for.
On the most deserted place, we found ourselves, Fighting for a lost peace.
On the outcast border we dread all night.
The fear of the terrors we face; outshines the joy of finally returning home.
No gratitude of appreciation shown to us by those we bit the dust for.
All these experiences were medal worn inside our hearts.