The poor can bleed while the rich do feed, upon the wars and that they hang around there necks. skulks of the fallen collected never buried but trophy’s of the greed that fed the blood soaked bills that passed from hand to hand. Like bullets passing through flesh, only the poor die, while the rich say more to fed the machine of greed that is never fulfilled until the last drop is cleaved with a bomb or bullet. And the poor due alone and hungry not able to buy a bullet to end there suffering, but enough to end another in a war that all had forgotten.