There Are No Angels in War Across the frozen fields of morning Where the dying daylight fades, Black smoke coils above the ruins Like a shroud the heavens made. No sacred hand descends from silence, No voice commands the rain, Only iron, blood and thunder, And the ghosts of those who came. There are no angels in war, No white wings above the flame, There are no angels in war, Only ghosts without a name. When the heavens turn to ashes And the earth is torn and scarred, Listen to the dead beneath you: There are no angels in war. Black clouds crawl across the mountains, Like a funeral veil of night, Steel screams through the frozen valleys, Every shadow flees the light. Young men stare into the darkness, Old men count the cost, Every banner raised in glory Hides another generation lost. There are no angels in war, No salvation in the smoke, There are no angels in war, Only promises that broke. When the drums become like thunder And the distant cannons roar, There is nothing pure in battle— There are no angels in war. I have walked the fields at midnight, I have heard the wounded cry, I have watched the ravens circling Beneath a blood-red sky. I have seen the strongest trembling, I have watched the fearless fall, And I learned beneath the darkness That death remembers us all. No crown can make it sacred, No sermon makes it clean, No golden word can resurrect The faces once unseen. The living carry every shadow, The dead become the scar, And every victory is haunted By the question of what we are. There are no angels in war, Only ashes on the snow, There are no angels in war, Only seeds that never grow. Every battlefield remembers, Every stone has heard the roar, And the wind repeats forever: There are no angels in war. Rise, black sun, above the ruins, Burn the banners from the sky, Let the frozen earth remember Every nameless soul that died. Let the mountains speak in silence, Let the oceans bear their scars, Let the stars refuse to answer For the things we call our wars. No angel comes to guide us, No demon bears the blame, We are the hands that forge the weapons, We are the ones who feed the flame. And when the final trumpet echoes Through a world forever scarred, There will be no saints among us— Only souls beneath the stars. There are no angels in war, No mercy in the flame, There are no angels in war, No glory without pain. When the final fires are dying And the battlefield lies still, The silence will remember Every life the war could kill. There are no angels in war, Let the frozen heavens hear, There are no angels in war, Only ghosts that linger here. Through the smoke and through the darkness, Through the winter and the scar, One truth survives the ages: There are no angels in war. No angels. No glory. No salvation. Only war. And when the blackened dawn is rising Over fields of ash and bone, When the last surviving soldier Walks the ruined road alone, He will carry every fallen Like a shadow in his heart, And the world will hear him whisper As the darkness tears apart: There are no angels in war. There are no angels in war. There are no angels... In war. The mountains keep their silence. The ravens know the names. The snow conceals the footsteps. The earth remembers flames. There are no angels in war. Only memory. Only mourning. Only war.
