To the pale dogs of war



Two wrongs don’t make a right




Thunder and lightning is spreading
a thick, dark cloud over the horizon:
to those who don't call war home and their daily bread
to those who spit at the billionaire hell made by the great military machine
to those who invoke a solemn prayer, while drowning in swallowed tears
to those who ask, "god, why is it raining bombs, grenades and bullets?
to those who smell the powder of the disguised filth with the veil of religion.
To the agitator dogs steered by the compass of the fabricated war,
we have brought the blood of flowers, children and the elderly to quench your thirst,
we have brought the cut up bodies to fill your hunger;
here served on the fecal tray there's a town shaking to your boots.
What more shit do you want? Want to be called gods?