Part 3

You have your children, bathed in blood,

Crying out in endless moans.

Memories washing over them in an endless flood.

 

Mine are mine, my sweet buds,

Playing forever in their very own zones.

You have your soldiers, bathed in blood.

 

Mine are safe from your endless trud,

Content and happy with what they will loan.

Memories washing over them in an endless flood.

 

None of mine could be a dud,

For all of them have energy running through their bones.

You have your soldiers, bathed in blood.

 

My children will be made from these spuds,

Their lives made from those the saved thought their own,

Memories washing over them in an endless flood.

 

So you see, I save them from your mud,

Give them peace forevermore, instead of painful groans;

You have your soldiers, bathed in blood,

Memories washing over them in an endless flood.  

This poem is about: 
Me

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