Robert Page

(6/7/95 / hertfordshire, the UK)

The Dawn Chorus


As the sun opens up its fiery eye,
As the crows on the dead trees sadly cry,
As the heroes march on toward their sad deaths,
As the trumpet sounds for each final breath,
As the fool in charge smokes upon his pipe,
As the papers back home feed on the hype,
As the world as we know it cries with pain,
As the soldiers march, nobody can gain,

Now the world stops turning as it burns down,
Now the few remaining fight for the crown,
Now the helpless children cry in their beds,
Now the heroes, turned cowards, lose their heads,
Now the whole world suffers because of the war,
I ask the people: What is it all for?

Submitted: Thursday, July 16, 2009
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