(Lightly adapted from U2's http://youtube.com/watch?v=UdceKu89SxY&feature=related, to convey one man's opposition to the Five Hundred Companions. To put it mildly, this has been suppressed, and only finds purchase with those devoted to the goddess of love.)

I'm not even sure that this song should be sung, actually. The night of the Saarthal massacre will soon long since be forgotten, and people will not understand the way we felt.

Well here we are, the Aldmorans in Mereth. The Aldmorans have been coming to Mereth for years, going back to the great famine when the Aldmorans were on the run from starvation, infighting government factions that couldn't care less. Right up to today, you know there are more Aldmoran immigrants here in Mereth today than ever, some illegal, some legal. A lot of them are just running from high conscription, some run from the troubles that split our kin, from the hatred and the hunting, from torture, others from wild acts of vengeance, like we had today in the town called Saarthal, where our entire community lay dead, many even mutilated, on a night of tears.

Ho ha ho.

Can't believe the news today
I can't close my eyes, make it go away
How long, how long must we sing this song, how long, how long
Tonight, we can be as one, tonight

Blown glass shattered under children's feet
Bodies strewn across the dead end street
But I won't heed the battle call
It puts my back up against the wall

Sundas bloody Sundas, our Saarthal's night of tears

Oh this battle's yet begun
There's many lost but tell me, who has won
Trenches dug within our hearts
Mothers, children, brothers, sisters torn apart

Sundas bloody Sundas, our Saarthal's night of tears

How long, how long must we sing this song, how long, how long
Tonight, we can be as one, tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight

Yeah, yeah, and let me tell you something. I've had enough of our brethren, who haven't been to "their country" in twenty or thirty years, come up to me and talk about the resistance, the revolution "back home", and the glory of the revolution, and the glory of dying for the revolution. [censored] the revolution! They don't talk about the glory of killing for the revolution. What's the glory in taking a mer from his bed and cutting him down in front of his wife and his children? Where's the glory in that? Where's the glory in windblasting a remembrance day parade of merish elders, their voices raised in song for their ancestors? Where's the glory in that? To leave them dying, or crippled for life, or dead, under the rubble of the revolution that the majority of the people in my country don't want?

No more, say it, no more, no more, no more, no more, no more, no more, no more, no more, no more.

Wipe your tears away, wipe your tears away, wipe your blood from your eyes, wipe your tears away.

Sundas bloody Sundas, again our Saarthal's night of tears
Sundas bloody Sundas, our Saarthal's night of tears

And it's true we are immune
When fact is fiction, poetry reality
And today the thousands die
We eat and drink, while tomorrow they die

The real battle yet begun
To claim the victory Mara won
on Sundas bloody Sundas, our Saarthal's night of tears

Sundas bloody Sundas, our Saarthal's night of tears
Sundas bloody Sundas, our Saarthal's night of tears