Men long told of mystic measures
extracted from a fiery speach
soaked up viciously in beds of feathers
and crushed within it's icy reach.
Listening to the harsh remarks spoken
for some diplomatic gain
held onto like a smoking token
not feeling the guilt for bloodlost pain

Could the leader of millions of mice
be so deaf to the call for rice
of the average ones, with invisible guns
hidden among ludicrous puns?
Enact this gem of lucrative gore
and see the land repent, and more.

Souls of mud do search for meaning
and in battle cries they find
the appearent truths of lives so seeming
full of young and innocent minds.

War is the child of moral disuninon
bred with the perils of social confusion.