A single soldier bearing just one life,
his actions bordering upon the just,
keeps marching forward among night's occult.
And Beelzebub's bullets soar throughout;
the expensive bombs stealing priceless life.
While blood escapes some, tears escape others.
For war knows only death to ease the pain
that's felt by those whose freedom's joy is lost.
The tyrant's men know not an end to pain,
inflicting it to try to ease their own.
Their only hope of peaceful denouement
lies within cessation of freedom's song.
But freedom's precious soldier presses on.
A single soldier bearing just one life.
Copyright 2003 spontaneous_insanity
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