Here we stand, armed,
Ready to march to our doom.
Rifle pressed to the shoulders,
We kiss the rose in our minds.
Heavy packs clinging to our backs,
Left and right and left and right.
The horizon brings us our mission,
A column of houses amongst the the sands.
The screams of youth surround us now,
Mother and daughter flee the hisses and snaps.
The desert is stained now;
The desert is stained.