Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.
Wrong.
28 October 2004 | 18:38

Desert slaughter, headless gore.
Blood-dunk tongues spewing hate,
The masked monsters cheer for more.

A hollow soul and a burning will.
The hesitant depths know it's right.
Abandon peace for a liscence to kill.

Devil grin, cut-throat smile.
Gruesome sandy-street jubilee.
The cold beasts live execution style.

The warrior filled with pain,
Joy, hope, and love now a void,
Filled only with the faces of the slain.

This war will always last,
The battle of right and wrong,
For there'll always be plenty of either caste.

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