I was up one night just thinking of my army friends, thinking of the glory involved in not battle or war, but having a brave, excellent soldier and human being ended by a faceless roadside bomb. It's not war, it's murder. You can take whatever else out of this that you will; I hope you like it.

Dedicated to the victims of politics, hatred, and intolerance.

*i believe this sounds smoother than it looks, but that's just the author's opinion. Enjoy!*

A bugle sounds out the red sunrise It seems the back and forth that is the tide Crushed the shore within last night The lamenting bugle narrates the ride The trip's grit does not subside Constant battles where many die Occur Until early blood has dried.

Yet We agreed to not comply, We built endurance through the fights. We agreed to fight and die, Never occurred for us to shine the lights, upon the truth, we ran in fright. Due to that an end is not in sight. Unless you count our death on a dreary night.

Our body count shall always rise,  Our corpses shall attract the flies And fuel the fire in our children's eyes. So they'll Train for vengeance and ignore the wise. Train like cattle in vicious exercise. So one day their bodies lay at our sides Victims of hate publicized

When the blood red sun decides to rise Upon this world so filled with lies All Remains dark; a veil sublime And the bugle laments, the rising tide.

The violin mourns the masses lost In wars with only massive costs. It plays a tune to ache the heart, 'Till the sorrow pump bursts apart.

They say \"Get revenge, and do your part.\"  But they hide the truth behind the scenes. They spill the guts but hide the beans They drill the oil and burn kerosene For late night thoughts, deadly dreams--

They are ones like trump so full of talk Who dump the money to double cross Those of us stunned, stuck to gawk. When blood is pumped and quickly lost Gone like gump, who wound up runnin Forrest forged ahead He was never done in  by those who strike us dead And keep war's engine gunnin For the poor flocks in the desert; sunnin No shepherd for them, just a deadly run-in With Uncle Sam, but Sam I am not I don't have a lot  but I'm proud of what I got Like the empathy i brought  To cure the rot wraught  By battles fought. Brought upon by freedom sought,

by Rich men flauntin their all Dropping the ball They wanna be free; To tear the walls  Down from around me. I'm raidin their halls, and guess what? I Got an army. I use the truth to recruit. Lies can't stiff arm me. And as long's we're in football I'll be in the end zone. We don't require a call From this prison called home. We can reach your guard towers  Built on money's throne. Just With our combined power An a microphone. So see the truth coward  And cower, Realize youre alone Just the rich and the masses With Nowhere to go. Packed in the town hall, So emotions are known. So our shouts and our screams  Build a heavy flow; A steady tone.

We're playing the songs and singing out loud we dont need a bullhorn and those other sounds These tools of noise are enough for now As the music of our being begins to surround  Violins united with support from the crowd  Send the masses on a rise to bring you down

The drum lays a base  That cant be defaced. Never erased; It conquers the war Cause conflict with war  Is what I'm askin for I want to kick in the doors  Not to invade Kick em in to love more Get some peace relayed.

Submitted: February 24, 2012

© Copyright 2022 Randall Brade. All rights reserved.

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Randall Brade

The formatting g

Fri, February 24th, 2012 6:08am

Randall Brade

Sorry the formatting got messed up; I'll republish from my desktop and hopefully resolve the problem. It really doesn't look smooth like this. I apologize again.

Fri, February 24th, 2012 6:09am

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