Dresden

Trumpets sounded last posts clear as bells, whistles or day
Death knells you heard so well, that rattle the snares of funeral drums
Brothers, put up your left hands...
Flags flown clawing under bridges rebuilt by hands burnt to the bone
Footfalls haunted by those of a history's worth of burning house and home
Brothers, put up your left hands, no devil here exists
A war-torn family's as strong as mortar and brick
There's a house on the hill
Windows black as nails picking through the ashes
No beginning, no end, no cause, nor effect, nor dark omen
Wrap the palms of your hands round the weapons built by your mothers
Cut the cord and we'll rip our fellow man into pieces