Monday, February 26, 2007


The blood of our brothers is on his hands
All they heard was the call
They did not question the WMDs
They answered and that was all

They didn't ask the reason why
They steeled themselves, they heeded
They didn't ask how long or even how
All they knew was they were needed

I question the call, the sacrifice, why
I carry the anger, the how
WE stand on the road and wave goodbye
And wonder how long from now

Will he call them again and again and again
And not look at his hands and see
That the blood of our husbands and fathers and sons
Will never set him free

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