As Nebula clouds hang o’er a skies blood red
Casting deep shadows on the fields of dead
Whist in the distance, a bugle sounds release
War torn countries pray for never ending peace.
Tommy looks for his mates in these fields of death
A slightest movement, or a small puff of breath
But so few are granted the goodness of grace
And thousands now gaze into God’s angry face.
And yet one asks, that if there is such a God
To allow this killing, does seem very odd
Is it just revenge for being nailed to cross?
Who has the answer? Are we all at a loss?
The answer it seems, is because we are cruel
And the act of war, is God’s avenging tool.