A Snipers View of the Great War

Fly on hand born of comrade’s corpse, the only memory of what has gone before. The fleas that hide, slowly drinking my soul, a world where freedom lies snug in the recess of my body, a giving god to them. And as I curse the itch with embers burn I peer through the sight once more waiting for my foe. For country has made an avenging god To see the eyes before they close, knowing that darkness has come. This tribute of victory Is mine alone to dream Though sleep is my victim’s vengeance, a place where haunting faces with broken skulls and withered lips All gather to greet me. For tomorrow the dream will begin again and their words will grow louder chuckled by feeding rats which draws the attention of another sight? for my foe seeks the eye of me. This harvest is a lousy feast. Soldiers in limpet ground shooting at images of man For reality would tremble the hand And a miss, is to know the man In the mist of this no man's land And what of god The day is near when we will lower our heads For to look would be obscene We criminals of heaven, we disciples of hell. But no matter, Our papers are a blessed pass For king and country comes first The victors will judge Hero or assassin, The victims will argue in heaven And god will know the failures of man. Forgiveness was not mine to give To follow orders, history will condemn But the last word is mine And Adam in his sin will answer to me A soldier of this Great War.