precious souls ...lost

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