A murder of crows flies into the waning sunset
And the casket is stripped of it's old glory
The salute is lacking live rounds for fear
That death would come again to the live one
But the living should be gone in good time
And never will there be another bad rhyme
So stew in the reaping of your life's harvest
While innocent men ruin their lives and fight
For freedom to kill and the right to die
Don't stop a soldier,
a soldier will always prevail.
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