Ninety metal coffins
Were a few too many
So they only sent forty-five

Little pots of steel.
With swinging handles
To boil men alive

A sacrifice to the gods of war
So that blonde-mid bimbos
Could play music that makes the ears bleed

Forty-five coffins,
Never used before
And unable to be mended

Holes in the walls,
the joins, the lids,
the head

Forty-four years
The coffins waited,
Ready to cremate our brothers’ bodies

So that little men can stand on their ashes and dream,

Dream that one day,
They will be as tall
As the heroes they have destroyed