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A Race Such as Ours

Death rains from above, when the bombs fall and children scream. Death rains from above, the product of misdirected dreams.           Death rains from above, as a multitude of  angels cry,                     And death rains from above while common people wonder why.    

So much the pity, that we must resort to hurt,                                   that cold steel's so much easier than good cheer and mirth.          That conquest by force seems to be the order of the day,                That a race such as ours can not find another way...

 

 

 (Poetry Page)