Hear the bugle cry for the fallen soldiers. They stumble, walking dead. Suicide was their device. One crypt, two crypts, three crypts sealed. Four lay wounded in a smoke filled field. No crutches, we'll limp. We're way too fucking proud... Vulture, vulture, eat the dead. Eat the lies. Leave their heads I've space set aside for this consolation prize. Vulture, vulture, save their hearts. Martyred for a dying art. No compromise. No sacrifice. No more lies sugared as little untruths. Clean and dress your wounds. We head out, unsteady. Your brother may drop cold. Don't fold, that's my advice. Left, left, right, left, we all march on. Escaped, prisoners of war, desperate to go home. Gun cocked. Shell shocked. Make room, Blow your mind out.