War
What is this thing?
This thing we call war,
Is it something tangible?
Or something more.
It’s a terrible thing,
That is for sure.
But is it really victory,
That becomes the cure?
The blood that is shed,
Of those soldiers and men,
Pours into the earth,
And reaches to them.
Who are they?
That question you may ask.
They are the soldiers,
Of all the wars passed.
When new blood is shed,
The roll in their rest.
They know that war,
Is not the best.
They’d cry out if they could,
To those families who’ve lost,
But it’s all at the fault,
Of the corrupt boss.
He’s leading the nation,
With all his lies.
He’s corrupt to the bone,
Just wait for the spies.
No reason,
It’s what this war has.
It started with one,
But the time is now passed.
Bring them all home!
Is what I say to you.
Before they all die,
While we still have a few.
They've already done,
What they’ve set out to do.
Vanquished the men,
That did harm to me and you.
Please bring them home,
No more support our troops,
The need to come back.
Before there’s another oops.
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