WAR CRY

WAR CRY
I tire of the death moans
on the street,
the running lies
of jacketed thugs in blue.

A man must live with his heart intact.

A dead man´s heart does not beat.

When will the living remember
that once the blood is drained and the body stiff
the time for the demand for justice
will have passed?
Pass me along another drink.
Load up the caravan
and tell them
we are coming.

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