Trudging off to war

Smelted and burnt in a mould
made by hands now wilted and worn
but used against others a long time ago

gliding down across the air
with its eye staring into yours
to war we must trudge on

the blood of others wash away
although the violent memories will never fade
the rust is a symbol of lost hope

down it crashes
along with the man with no name
his fate is doomed but you shall live on

forget all that,
little bird of mine
hide behind your case of safe

never again will you fly
for your wings were lost
aeons and aeons ago

your blade will stay strong
as a reminder of the day you trudged off to war