I regret to inform you the battle's been lost,
we fought for our cause but could not pay the cost.
the ground is shaking beneath me and children are screaming,
I know this is real, but how I wish I were dreaming.

I managed to hide here, in an old musty den,
and within rubble and debris I found an old pen.
So I write you this verse on the current atrocities,
such inhuman hate filled with cold animosities.

Buildings are crumbling and trees and have been burned,
the world is scorched but the lesson? Not learned.
The end game approaches, the hour so fleeting.
There's nowhere to run. No escape. No retreating.

The smoke billows in and the cannonballs fly,
as fire and brimstone fall from the sky.
I hear angry footsteps approaching the door,
It's not safe here much longer but I must tell you more.

I don't know how this started, but you can surely blame,
the rich, greedy tyrants and their bloodletting game.
The foul stench of flesh, punishing as a curse,
and that's the just the tip of an iceberg far worse.

I wish I could finish, but I'll stop here I think,
as I'm sorry to say I've just run out of ink...