Out in the field, once sunny and green
No blooming roses, just silent screams
The bones of a thousand men scattered wide
Cold blood traded for glory and pride
Who is the one who chose our fates?
Did this man ever contemplate
The way they cried and fell to their knees
Slaves to an end much worse than disease
You are the master planner, you are the one
You point the way and we'll point the gun
For democracy, it's not a matter of fun
Any man would give his only begotten son
*Just a quick little poem inspired by Johnny Got His Gun, which I am currently reading You can join Unsolved Mysteries and post your own mysteries or
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Halloween is Right around the corner.. .
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