He’s fighting a war he doesn’t understand,
Governments and mass media in command.
Stacking lies disguised as truth,
Ever corrupting the fountain of youth.
For when he is called to perform mass ******,
Attention: post-traumatic stress disorder.
A well-equipped war machine
of marching men and marching bullets far between.
A soldier to the death,
Time to gasp for his parting breath.
As he drowns in the shallow pain of the Divine,
Time to join the unemployment line.