This world has been caught up,
a mess of bangs and knives,
and missing wives,
they're stuck on bombs,
and rocket blasts.
Destroying celestial palaces,
and family homes alike.
Wrecking familial courtyards,
before the setting sun
A mismatched assortment of wild men,
who have no spears,
nets or tridents,
They are not gladiators,
they passed away in ancient Rome,
Now fighters, troll the deserts, creating chaos as they go.
While the preaching politicians,
aiming their thumbs firmly downwards.
I really doubt,
that they would put them selves,
into the fields and desert wars,
Abhor the thought,
adore the power.
Most of them are cowards,
They're currently drowning in custard,
of the cowardly, cowardly kinds.
While coating their roast beef with mustard,
And going out of their minds
(C) Livvi .