The steady beat of War.

The demons surface from where we hid them

Underneath the rotting floorboards.

(Maybe this time we should dispose of them forever)

The only ones who want this

Are thin skinned pale men

Who have never known love,

Only experienced sex as violence.

And they beat their drum and drone a dreadful note.

Stirring inexorable the human heart with fear, with violence and the smell of blood.

They who will never fight.

Who never smell the shit of death and this life.

Who never experience the terror of what they wrought.

They will send disposable blood.

The children of black and brown mothers

And your poor white sons.