Thanks Alot General
Drones embedded in the crotch of battle.
While the white-collar generals
bark orders from remote hilltops.
No blood on their lapel.
Now and again, they pat our virtual heads.
Never telling us the vital things.
Although they put us in the x- hairs of death.
After the dust settles, and blood cracks
After the invisible devils are beaten back.
After the masks are packed away.
The generals will come back.
Puffy-chested and well-tanned.
Vocal cords revving.
Patting each other on the back.
Give themselves a piggies raise.
And reward us with a 2 dollar lunch pass.
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