The Bloody Poet
The battlefield, never a place of beauty
Flowers grow, where blood did flow
And souls were taken, by sword and arrow
All in the name of a god, we shall meet too soon
Battle cries, as eagles sore
Hunting for dinner, their final score
Symphonies compose the battle plans,
Marching bands play their scores
Evil lurks, in palace courts
As Royals sit, courtesans in tow
Plotting riches, on bloody conquests
The serfs indentured to a fate unknown
Row on row of unmarked graves
Be they soldiers or be they slaves
All died for Noble desires
To burn in hell, among King and Queen
The forests are filled with past glories
The soil beneath, filled with blood and gore
Muskets and cannon answer to histories lore
We lie in fields bleeding, hearts torn
We died for nothing
Our children weep
Graves have no flags
We sing as ghosts
Battle no more
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