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Michael LaRocca
©2000
Whenever man receives the order
He goes out and fights another war.
He obeys the wills of demented rulers
Without ever asking what the bloodshed is for.
Each must feel that he is better than the rest,
And he loves to kill and kill again,
And feel that he is living to serve a cause -
It appears as though it shall never end.
Every man loves to kill one another,
And send each other to the grave,
To murder, to maim, to mutilate,
For he worships Death; he is its slave.
As the blood spews out in a steady stream
And the battlefield grows spattered and gory,
Man ignores the foul stench that fills the air
And revels in misguided glory.
When a man feels so stubbornly convinced
That his is the only view that is right
And that all who disagree are mistaken,
No man is better than another,
But alas, all are too blind to see -
So they kill all who disagree
And this is how it shall always be
Man will continue upon his foolish ways
Until Mother Nature is no more
And even then, he will continue to beat
A bloody path up to Death's door.
We claim to be so proud and mighty
As the helpless bodies rot and burn
And the mad desolation blindly rages on,
For we shall never learn.
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