The Dark Side of The Sun

The Drabble Ditch

I've never been able to pin-point when

soldiers are done and become free men.

There's blood in your eyes and smoke in your heart

and a thought in your mind, that hatred's an art.

As the world goes on by in a tickety boo,

your soul clouds your sight to a cynicle view.

But there's one little secret you already know:

The helpless and heartless put on a good show. 

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