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The sweet sound of death penetrates the thin atmosphere,
There are no winners, in this game of warfare
No more cries of innocence, from the children
No more gunfire, no more chatter
Nothing exists now, in this precious, precious world
The Lord gave this as a gift. To mankind.
Mankind was a test. Of dependability, of faith.
The final cry of a soldier, sweeps through the sky
No one left to hear it.
The spirits of the unfortunate, drift up into the lonely sky
Dreams Unfulfilled. Dreams damaged. Dreams tortured.
This world was built on trust,
Stability was not to come from a barrel of a gun.
The Lord is not irate, The Lord is hurt
As the final breath is taken
No one even knows the circumstance
This Earth, so beautiful, so precious
Just another tree in the fire
Just another bullet in the head
Just another unread book...
This game of conflict, was not meant to be played
The Lord frowns, a tear rolls from his eye, down his cheek.
The only sound, is, bereavement, is, torture, is, screaming.
Nothing left
This precious, beautiful contribution, up in smoke
Flames prevail, upon this delicate world.
As the tide washes away the bodies of the dead
As the corpses are burnt in the flames
As the spirits of the dead ascend
The Lord shakes his head.
This beautiful, delicate, precious world...
Says he.
Left school years ago, never written anything in this syle before so my old English teacher would be proud of you. Truely hope you don't mind.
In retrospect it must have touched me more than I initially thought.
Thank you
The sweet sound of death penetrates the thin atmosphere,
There are no winners, in this game of warfare
No more cries of innocence, from the children
No more gunfire, no more chatter
Nothing exists now, in this precious, precious world
The Lord gave this as a gift. To mankind.
Mankind was a test. Of dependability, of faith.
The final cry of a soldier, sweeps through the sky
No one left to hear it.
The spirits of the unfortunate, drift up into the lonely sky
Dreams Unfulfilled. Dreams damaged. Dreams tortured.
This world was built on trust,
Stability was not to come from a barrel of a gun.
The Lord is not irate, The Lord is hurt
As the final breath is taken
No one even knows the circumstance
This Earth, so beautiful, so precious
Just another tree in the fire
Just another bullet in the head
Just another unread book...
This game of conflict, was not meant to be played
The Lord frowns, a tear rolls from his eye, down his cheek.
The only sound, is, bereavement, is, torture, is, screaming.
Nothing left
This precious, beautiful contribution, up in smoke
Flames prevail, upon this delicate world.
As the tide washes away the bodies of the dead
As the corpses are burnt in the flames
As the spirits of the dead ascend
The Lord shakes his head.
This beautiful, delicate, precious world...
Says he.