Bodies In The Gears Of The Apparatus War Engine
Bury the souls in a shallow grave. I see brothers fulfill the prophecies.
"It was their choice to die." Beating slowly, the morbid drums of war.
Choking back on dirt in the defiant desert sun, they digest the fields of their enemies.
The politicians offer no way out/home. No escape. What will be the response?
A thousand treaties bound in oil/bound in blood. No escape.