The sons of the resistance, they're young and with persistence
their thunderous insistence - their lives the sum of the existence
of their fathers before 'em, living in peace, they never bothered to warn 'em
of days in the past and getting shot at the forum, stuffed in a box, in a coffin ad mortem
No word of the cops that'd stop and transport 'em nor the all the witnessed slaughter and horror
None of theirs sons ever running with guns, no missiles overhead, just fun in the sun.
Know they not the price of their freedom, paid for in blood with only strife there to greet 'em
but held they committed, to principles and actions, their nimble interactions to rebuild their splintered faction
rekindled in the ashes from the fists of bitter faschists.
Their sons enjoying the fruits of their labor but O' be they blind to the truth of their savior
for without the trials and the boots and the blazers there'd be hardly a world for their idle youthen behavior.
Their fathers gave their lives believing "you deserve to be safer" with prospective lives and universities paid for.
Through eternity's pale door memories stand as all that remains, the calling of change was too strong to restrain
now they fight not, their song no longer refrains. Peace in the land for their forefathers were brave.