Where is my sword?

The tears of angels, falling down.
The blood of men upon the ground.
A broken spear, a battered shield.
The arms that none again shall wield.
Bloody bodies on the ground,
The birds above the only sound.
The prayers of men no longer heard.
Their rest forever now ensured.

Where are the soldiers?
Where are the drums of war?
Why do the stocks lay drying on the threshing floor?
Where are the souls who once stood tall?
Is there any one left who will risk it all?
Have the mighty men of old, been replaced by prodigal sons?
Have spineless cowards, replaced men with guns?
Instead of defending our homes, we give them away.
Instead of fighting our enemy we ask him to stay.

And what am I?
Where is my sword? Where is my shield?
I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to wield them in battle.
To care so much you’d risk it all; when did I fall?
When did I trade sweat, for sweet perfume?
When did I trade my tent for a furnished room?
When did I start taking baths instead of taking orders?
When did I start breaking bread instead of breaking borders?

When did I trade my armor, for a suit and a hat?
When did I start kissing babies instead of kicking ass?
When did I stop talking like that?
Trading the pointed words of a hardened soldier,
For the sweet scented lips of a politician.
When did I start caring more about ribbons, and titles and the honor of men?
Then for the job at hand, the chain of command?
Why did I sit, when I was told to stand?

Where are the soldiers?
Where are my brothers to whom I swore an oath?
They fight alone while I sit and loaf.
Where are the soldiers, and where am I?
How can I live? And watch them die?
Where is my God, and where is my king?
Where is the hope to which I cling.
Where is my sword, and where is my shield?
Do I still have the strength them both to yield?