war paint and ash

There are the hardest lesson learn,
when fire and clock save face,
in sadness tears may burn,
when with the pyre and cruel time race,

soot becomes our paint of war,
our faces stoic and stern,
when in that season of hell we tour,
for a few more minutes yearn,

we go where others don't,
an we have to stay appearing strong,
but sometimes the fascade wont,
hide the tears of a lost song.

so in the quiestest rage,
the anger we must contain,
when paper embers of temder age.
of a song cut short a refrain