Tin soldiers and a desert sun,
Found ourselves on the run.
Thirteen fallen in the sand,
Orders from a heavy hand.
Flags are waving, sirens scream,
Tearing through the quiet dream.
Thirteen gone, the count is clear,
Driven by a cycle of fear.
Drones are humming in the gray,
Turning night into the day.
Thirteen lives, a heavy price,
Caught within the iron vice.
Marching boots on ancient ground,
Silence is the only sound.
Thirteen ghosts, the story told,
As the future starts to unfold.
Soldiers coming, shadows fall,
Writing names upon the wall.
Thirteen lost, the toll is high,
Underneath a foreign sky.
