September 18, 2010
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There are people in every country,
those that protect people like you and me.
They fight to save innocent souls,
But they are cutting holes,
Not in others, but in them self’s.
We may not see the horrors of war,
for we are not poor.
And those that are,
they hear the bombs and guns that roar.
No doubt that we have it made,
but there are those that lay.
They lay so stile;
they have been, in fact, killed.
Blood so red that it stains,
Cuts so deep that it pains,
the people that lay so stile.
And there is a knock, knock, knock,
on the door,
and now you are poor,
neither with money nor wealth,
But with a fill family no longer all in health.
How long must this go on?
They are only pawns,
in a big game of war.
How long must this go on?

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