User:Goats guy

The price of blood The claws that grasped us went straight in and out the other side,

We felt chilled like icicles although we were inside.

The flimsy building rattled, just like the flimsy frame,

Just like the flimsy country, that puts itself to shame.

If you place hope with humans, you gamble with your life.

When you have sex with prostitutes you gamble with your wife.

The streets were filled with corpses, though nobody would care.

The dead were left to just be dead, cos’ know one else was there.

The conflict carried on though, the fighting would not cease.

As many men were wounded, at least the dead had peace. The forces just kept coming, they butcher all they find.

An eyeball for an eyeball back had made our country blind.

No war is a just war, just watching people bleed,

Thriving of their fatal wound as evil sows its seed.

Our culture here is shattered, our future here is dead,

We’re clinging on for mere existence, hanging by our threads.

Our threads will soon be broken, we’ll plummet to the ground,

Lying with the other wounded, waiting to be found.

From an outsider looking in the country is at guilt.

An ever shrinking vicious noose, a suffocating quilt. The people are uneducated, actions dictate greed.

The writings written on the wall but none of them can read.

The fallen’s lives were wasted, they found an early grave,

Buried in the battle carnage, flooded by the wave.

We could send our troops in, but why engage in war?

The death toll is already rising, set to rise some more.

It is the fault of local men, their nature is innate,

Thinking not of future foods, only of their next plate.

They have no sense of planning, they live life for the time,

A life that’s not worth living, a life that’s turned to crime.

A war lost a priori, to follow is to die.

The silhouetted barren landscape, dead beneath the sky.

Looking down on such a scene, the tears run like thoughts,

Their hearts dictate, though swamped with hate, the battle being fought.

Their bodies pump adrenaline, their actions pump their souls,

Where there gratis mind used to sit, now lies a gaping hole.

To kill another human, does not make a man.

To leave your brother barely breathing, writhing in the sand,

The sight is worse than dying, the noise is worse than death,

Your soul is lying on the rocks, then nothing else is left,

A man who kills for pleasure, is not a man at all.

He’s been engulfed by the crevice, encircled by the wall.

What’s the point of fighting, when every man will lose?

Could you kill another man, place yourself in his shoes?

Could you take the burden, could you take the shame?

If you couldn’t, just consider, what is war to gain?