There's Not A Note Of Mine That's

Speak What We Feel, Not What We Ought To Say.

In Sweet Music Is Such Art: Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

I Am A Feather For Each Wind That Blows

Where Hateful Death Put On His Ugliest Mask.

From This Day Forward Until The End Of The World...we In It Shall Be Remembered...we Band Of Brothers.