War is a piercing, virulent fire.
It corrupts all that feels its searing ire.
Its chilling cadence fills the air,
With the lamenting sorrows of despair.
O, how life would change if it were not constantly estranged,
By the numbing terror of boiled blood and broken bones.
How we would rejoice if they would heed our pleading voice,
Crying out to our desecrated lands,
“The time has come to make a stand.”