Martin Holm Sjölin (89-01-29 / Stockholm)

In a faraway field I lay
A lone soldier with an unknown grave.

Nothing to be said, and nothing to be done
The heart the once had a beat,
Now remains still

The cross is raised and the sounds of guns now long gone.
The trumpets high tone sings a last tone and then fades away,
The tone of one last farewell to the lone soldier in his grave.