180000
4
On the plains of the damned where the sons of hate were spawned
Just beyond the gates of Hell... Starting at the crack of dawn
Machine gun towers blaze away ...from the right and to the left
The angry men curse each other from the trenches
Gambling with their lives ...as they spin the roulette wheel of death
Speaking murder on their every bloody breath
Till the pillboxes annihilate them all
Casting waves of Greek fire as thick as rain from above
Too late they grasp the reality ...they had been duped
Set on fire as they lose their minds
Incinerated without a stove
Those who are wounded seem the worse off
Pitiful cries become moans as they lay dying
The stench of death is so intense
No one comes, no use crying
The dead hear no prayers ...feel no love
No one remembers when all this started
...or what its all about
National, political, religious or racial
Never seemed to me to be...
Important enough a reason to take another’s life
The minister on the west ...the fuehrer on the east
Each hate filled speech calling for the spilling of innocent blood
Slug it out contesting who will lead the people who have by hate been blinded
Seems they have an ax to grind ...with no one to remind them
Never knowing they both answer to the beast
The devils legions fight with neither sleep or respite until the closing bell
...At the end of days
Politicians lay out plans to defeat the enemy
Hiding behind a rising rage ...blaming every enemy they can find
Which means every shadow they seems to cross
Raising taxes through the roof
Now that they have “proof”
...or something to cover
What their other thieving plans have cost
The meek just continue to struggle with ...another boss
Still bodies fill the trenches ...till the ground runs red with blood
Even the bulldozers can’t dig the graves fast enough
The accountants are working overtime
the dead written off as a necessary loss
this is no fight for freedom
nor some odd holy war
just greed ...and the need
to recover what progress might have cost
No matter how quickly men come to die
They are replaced with new waves of fervent followers
Drawn by promises of a quick victory
Or by some misguided sense of dubious satisfaction
...of misguided patrioticity
...or the thrill a more deadly phase of video game mentality
Some serve the demon, some come for the action ...others the cross
Nothing ever seems to be resolved
Precious souls ...are lost
The demon
Only yawns
C2
