An offense given
From a time unknown
Sparks anger and hatred
And the will for revenge
An Army Marches
Through gates of stone,
Red and gold in the setting sun;
Pennants flying in the breeze of war.
Carrion birds circle above,
Following death
To its dark confluence,
Aware that blood will be spilled.
Green and blue to match that force
March in time to drums of war.
A host of men to feed the follies
Of men uncaring to preserve life.
While armies march
To meet each other in war,
The battle of words has already begun
In halls of marble, and wood, and cloth.
And while those battles
Are fought with words,
The real war will begin
With the clash of steel and shouts of men.
Those halls of marble, wood and cloth,
Cannot see what truth there is,
That blood can’t quench
The hatred of men.
And while such words
Will go unheard,
Blood will be spilled
In the war to come.
