Brother and sisters you walk to the past
For nothing of value can truly last
You walk to your death like a lamb to the slaughter
As the bullets cut down all your sons and your daughters

While they callously rub out the "vermin" they see
But it's real just you and it's really just me
And their hearts have all lost all the center they had
In its place lives the putridness of all that is bad

And you fall to the snow like some angel above
As you kiss the cold earth of the land that you love
And you all are just martyred, like latter day saints
Who are covered with blood...faces smeared with red paint

While all that you hear are the bullets that fly
As they stifle the sound from your throats as you cry
And the hatred they spew as they kill the unborn
Are "remember the past of the Little Big Horn"

But a battle this isn't and they know that it's true
Just simply a massacre perpetrated on you
And they kill everyone, old people and young
Never giving you time for the death song to be sung

And they chase you all down as you run for your life
While you hide in ravines and are put to the knife
And the Medals of "Honor" they'll reward to their "brave"
But to me they are all.... of the coward and knave

And the children they cower as they hide without trace
For they're called to come out from their safest place
But when they surrender, little cries they are stilled
As the "men" they take pleasure for the thrill of the kill

Heinous monsters you are, as you walk on mother earth
Wish your mother would never have given you birth
Wish where ever you've gone, God's not given you rest
For the child she suckles at a dead mother's breast...at a dead mother's breast

Copyright A.G. Poetry