At whose behest? Were they certain of your brilliance and aim, assured that your bullet would find its flesh? Who sent you there with gun and grenade? Did they know that you were a skilled assassin? Who brought you to such hunger? A profound reverence for the motherland, or payment for her freedom's wonder? Can you even recognize her, is she the same as before you sent another soul to grave? Who moved you to it? Some grand leader, father, teacher, God? Did they too have your hardy thirst for war? Did they follow you there, to the foreign pit, into the fray, ready to exterminate their foe? Who sent you to kill? Did they ready your legs for such a slaughter, prepare you to painfully die for your country? Did your victims go staggering alone into the swill or did they put their filthy mouths to the lips of war? © 2008 mrp/tpm
(The Weaver's Song)