Miles and miles of the dead I see
Under the dirt of a willow tree
The old and the young both given a stone
To rest their weary achy bone
The solider and peacekeeper lie in same earth
The martyr and atheists sleep with mirth
From the date of life to the date of death
Voices of joy and pain were on their breath
When they were born to when they did die
They saw beautiful landscapes and pictures before their eye
