The thrill of the fight gives way to last rites, with the hatchets buried alongside the fallen. To cross the fence with hand held open, to turn rivals into neighbors is the first step on the long, arduous road of rebuilding what was loved and lost. What we found was that it was easy to look at them as enemy, to give in and let the blood boil, but now home is that much further away. In this time after, when left with weary bones and wounds still fresh, all we have are stories to tell and songs to sing. This is Post War.