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Meat is Murder
Frozen by their artificial sun, all our training taught not to run.
Monstrous figures pour from the trees, deafened by screaming tread and allies pleas,
Would this not be done if you held the gun?
Surrounded by the fallen dead, just waiting for your dose of lead.
Our Earth a canvas, stained in red.
We march, we fight, we die for lies,
A war machine fueled by cries.
The hands that squeeze, do they ever freeze?
Do they feel the weight of the blood they shed?
Am I no longer your brother just because I'm dead?
Or are they like me, and this will never leave their head?
Copyright ©
Gavin Rauch
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