Warriors preach of the heroic and divine,
while others oppose, and speak their mind:
caution the eternal infinity,
seeking the holy trinity.
In the dust of Los Alamos,
appeared a holy ghost,
but was the death the destroyer.
No trial, no defense, no lawyer.
To the tune of Manhattan,
cities fall and flatten;
innocents foot the bill,
the propaganda machine; our triumph of the will.
After the dust and memory settles,
we present folded flags and medals.
We fight for noble causes,
rows and rows of crosses.
Soldiers in their finest suits,
the sound of taps, and final salutes.
The battles continue, they never cease,
only those that lie in rest, know peace.
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