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The Civil War

The rhythm of drums,
Beats to our marching on,
I look from side to side,
Not knowing who’ll be gone,

A shrill pipe is added to the tune,
And the sound of our marching feet,
Is added to,
The terrible, dreary, beat,

I can now see the enemy,
The ones that I must kill,
Suddenly, the music stops,
The last note of the pipes haunting shrill,

I look once more,
At he men who fight by my side,
Wondering how,
We will divide,

The commander of our group,
Calls us to battle stance,
I sink to my knees,
And give my gun a glance,

My body starts to tingle,
Killing is not what I was meant to do,
The commander calls,
And says we must get through,

Trumpets blare from behind,
The battle field is tense,
And now the sound cuts off,
And War will commence,

I aim and fire.

Shooting a man,
Who is really just a boy,
Now, his life is over,
Now, he’ll never know joy,

If I stop and scream at what I’ve done,
My life will soon be over,



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