Psychedelics_r_best
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 16, 2004
- Messages
- 2,049
Like stones the bodies lay strewn over the beaches,
The sand soaking up their blood like a swarm of hungry leaches,
Bullets nestled in their hearts to replace the remembrance of the loved,
Dressed in the distinguished clothing of the dead, the stark, the brave, the gloved,
There, there lay men of white skin, men of black,
Men accustomed to wearing torn jackets and men accustomed to sharp slacks,
Christians and Jewish men, some Islamic ones and another professing atheist principles,
But they all looked the same, the in style glossy eyes and those classy bullet holes,
Everyone could afford in these homely times,
And how the bodies laying there had made their finds,
Reality would no longer give them his binds,
Soaring on air as the seagulls that now flocked to feed on their past cages,
But all the linguistics and laments,
Portrayals and repents,
Have never seemed to pull the curtains once in all these most civilized of ages,
To purchase for the look of your hair without a care,
Support the machine which put those bodies there,
I suppose instruments of the greater good have always desired such food,
Seems like it should all work out but you know somehow it doesn’t work the way it should,
The sun still shone down to give a guiding hand to the monstrosities of the land,
But all in all it was a happy scene,
The saucing sea accommodated a long ray of the suns efflorescent sheen,
The tired tides washed away the memories of gore from its persisting shores,
Salt and sand were left to brand the bodies with the innocence of the ocean clean,
The worries were over for the bodies that lay there in positions almost mean,
But presidents ordered, so the business man worked, and the homeless starved,
The soldier fought for it all, but the cause was not included in the call,
All to within their own little niches they were carved,
But the sun still shone and the breeze still blew,
I’m not sure for who, but I doubt it was me and you.
The sand soaking up their blood like a swarm of hungry leaches,
Bullets nestled in their hearts to replace the remembrance of the loved,
Dressed in the distinguished clothing of the dead, the stark, the brave, the gloved,
There, there lay men of white skin, men of black,
Men accustomed to wearing torn jackets and men accustomed to sharp slacks,
Christians and Jewish men, some Islamic ones and another professing atheist principles,
But they all looked the same, the in style glossy eyes and those classy bullet holes,
Everyone could afford in these homely times,
And how the bodies laying there had made their finds,
Reality would no longer give them his binds,
Soaring on air as the seagulls that now flocked to feed on their past cages,
But all the linguistics and laments,
Portrayals and repents,
Have never seemed to pull the curtains once in all these most civilized of ages,
To purchase for the look of your hair without a care,
Support the machine which put those bodies there,
I suppose instruments of the greater good have always desired such food,
Seems like it should all work out but you know somehow it doesn’t work the way it should,
The sun still shone down to give a guiding hand to the monstrosities of the land,
But all in all it was a happy scene,
The saucing sea accommodated a long ray of the suns efflorescent sheen,
The tired tides washed away the memories of gore from its persisting shores,
Salt and sand were left to brand the bodies with the innocence of the ocean clean,
The worries were over for the bodies that lay there in positions almost mean,
But presidents ordered, so the business man worked, and the homeless starved,
The soldier fought for it all, but the cause was not included in the call,
All to within their own little niches they were carved,
But the sun still shone and the breeze still blew,
I’m not sure for who, but I doubt it was me and you.
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