the stuttering rifles will stifle the cry
the monstrous anger the fear's rapid rattle
a desert inferno kids dying like cattle
Don't tell me we're not prepared
I've seen today's marine
he's eighteen and he's eager
he can be quite mean
No mock'ries for them no prayers or bells
the demented choirs the wailing of shells
the boys holding candles on untraveled roads
the fear spreads like fire as shrapnel explodes
I think it's wrong to conscript our youth against their will
when plenty of our citizenry really like to kill
what sign posts will lead to Armageddon's fires?
what bugles will call them from crowded gray shires?
The women sit quiet with death on their minds
a slow dusk descending the drawing of blinds
Make the hunters all line up it's their idea of fun
and let those be forgiven who never owned a gun
was it him or me or the wailing of the dead?
The laughing soldiers cast their lots and
you can cut the dread
Contributed by Bartleby - 2010/12/16 - 14:19
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