The nature of war blooms bullets and bombs
in battlefields of glory
that quickly turn into gardens of grief
rained down upon with the blood of innocence
lost to hate fueled by years of violence breeding violence
and the coffins fall in place as the body count marches on
and spit shine the corpse for the beautiful parade
for the heroes of war and the soldiers of peace
who sleep with the horrors of what they've seen
and the horrors of what they've done
tucked away tight and safe
inside name brand body bags and precisely folded flags
and what victory can be seen
in the tears of a mothers heart
or the pride in a fathers eyes
and the nature of war blooms on
as the cannons keep roaring
and the political speakers keep up
the rhetoric of violent ballets of misinformation
to keep the war machine grinding
the bones of new enemies
with the same old perpetuated propaganda
to keep the masses foaming at the mouths
to dress up in uniforms of legalized ******
and the casual lie
of the freedom everyone is fighting for
and it's the iron fist that controls the land of the free
and it's the strong arm of might
making everything alright with the nature of war