Every Father's Son

For every father's son.

The thought escapes me as I stand, the kiss of wind upon my brow.
The playful breezes search the land, and I recall the warning now.

"Sonny boy, don't make a fist, or take a stand in mortals' war
Don't taste the dew of hatred's mist, that's not what Christian hands are for."

...But my boy had reached the age, a son just like his dad,
He saw the fords were red with rage; how their song seduced my lad.

Then passion moved his guiding light where foreign sons have died
My little boy went off to fight, now he's buried by their side.

But sighing hearts believe the night, they cling to dreams below.
Does dying make the grave delight? Does wishing makes it so?

...Breezes, weeping, search my field, Oh, man, where is your little one??
...We pray to God for killer and killed, for every father's son.