These slick people dance as
If they're off to war;
Fighting because
instead of
A cause.
There's blood in that.
September's ribs break under my
Rotting hands.
I have to try before the moon
Runs
Runs
Runs away.
My corneas are tired of seeing
And choosing to twitch at the thought
That this moon...
This very moon belongs to anyone
Else but me and you.

Armies died for you;
Medals were rewarded on
That white hill.
They say God stood here once.
We did too.

I'm sure those bronze medals are worn
Proudly around your neck.

All those soldiers are dying or dead.
No real difference to this or that.
Armies fought for us.
The axis won.