Is it awful?
Is it dreadful?
Or...
Is it pleasant?
Is it splendid?
No words can explain the sentiments of a soldier.
For it hurts more than a thousand raindrops of bullets,
A mountain of horrifying grenades,
A roaring line of cannons—
Bombing through the air.
And down below,
Bits of debris.
Scattered.
Covering the ground.
And she said:
“Take shelter my warrior.
But should you not forget.
For things will go smoothly.
Go now...
And never come back.
For the wind will take its place.
Strong and abrupt.
And then.
The dark.”

I walk the stones each Sunday
I leave flowers as I walk
Not for certain people
Just in case the spirits talk

I left a rose for Eleanor
Gone 100 years
Just to let her know that
Someone still sheds tears

There's lots to learn while out here
Walking through the stones
Listen close to all the voices
That aren't as silent as their bones

There are soldiers who died fighting
For freedom they did die
From the beginning of our country
Who now beneath us lie

They fought the revolution
Some fought in Vietnam
Some died lost deep inside themselves
Now, folks don't give a ****

There's many here of children
From the old orphan home
They found them buried out in back
So, there their spirits roam

The grass is kept up nicely
Though the stones are left to rot
I try to clean them up a bit
I guess I'm all they've got

I started out just walking
Now, I clean the stones while here
I give them the respect they miss
I can feel their spirits near

So next time you're out walking
And you want to stretch your bones
Bring a brush down to the graveyard
We'll take a walk among the stones

Her dark hair falls like the lowered trumpets,
Soundless as the eyelid-close of Accursed Gates,
Past the city’s outer walls and alley-clotted throes,
Some shield-hearted soldier sent to his earthen fold,
Her blood-rimmed sky-lids of night foretell the phantom peace
Of Autumn like a head sinking down with the fell-purpled leaf of war.

***
Love, you once guided the black looms of Autumn,
Olive-skinned druid, you are a dark everything,
And a toss of your hair flings to dust all of Rome.

Her passion was life
Her agony was divine
Her choice was death

Helicopter water ballet
And Charlie's on the grid

Front and centering feng shui
Choreographed in the fields
Where ****** sticks to kids

War is the fashion
That never wears out

Smell its smoke
Sickly sweet and orange
In the early decay of morning

Fear's unknown to him
All wish their courage was like his

Loyal soul an' loyal heart
Being a warrior seems such an art

He yearns the glory feeling
Gettin' honor feels as good as lusting

But all he sees are ****** fields
Hearin' pain an' swords against shields

He's not scared of death
Pagan, in divine judgement, he's no faith

Crested helmet, drawn sword
"For the motherland", not another word

At the signal he'll unleash hell
After slaughterin' hostiles, he'll feel well

No one will be spared, he's merciless
But primarily, he's a fearless

you approached me
on my way back home

we stopped
i looked into your
eyes
i looked at the core of
your soul

you didn't hide your emotions
yeah
i wanted you badly baby
i said:

"soldiers like me need tenderness
and i will give you tenderness"

slowly you took my hand as i
was already waiting
we walked into the night

my big gun was swinging
you pressed your body against it