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the march of youthful, grey-haired men

killing things to live again

to leave a footprint in the sands

they spread their death with dirty hands

to climb the mound they scorch the earth

a song of peace is filled with dearth

“a lie, a lie, come lie with me

we speak the truth, as soon you’ll see”

and so the whisperer, loud and clear

screams in the silence for all to hear

our mother bleeds through gaping scars

as we look up to plunder Mars


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