The sun is a fiery torch upon the hellish ground
The skies a palette of gold, rolling by without a sound
The plain a torrent of gore, of screams and final groans
And I have heard a plethora of deathly drums pound

The wind among spears and swords emits gloomy moans
As I wend my way silently through rocks and bloody stones
Slipping into to the forest, away from the battlefield
Away from the piles of steel and bones breaking bones

Within the forest and upon the grass with tremors I kneel
Binding the wounds on my skin that would not yet heal
War rages in the distance, and hard and oft I try
But I cannot block out the sounds that to my ears are real

The sun sets in the distance and night has come nigh
Under the trees and stars in the hot night wind I lie
I will make for home tomorrow, when mist is on the dew
And worry not, for my feelings I have to justify

They may call me a deserter, but my choice I will not rue
They may call me afraid, and that I am, too
They may call me a coward, but all I want is peace
And would not run from battle if what I fight for is true

But I do not engage in senseless killing of man and of beast
Which is what we pass from hand to hand, like a sick sort of feast
And before I die, I want to say, that I did not engage in war
When it rose by petty anger like bread rises from yeast

If the method, means, and end of the fight I do abhor
Than how could I, with conscience clear, meet with death's door
By saying "I died on a battlefield, fighting for a man
With no purpose to the massacre he calls a war."

With this said, I vow I will try as hard I can
With this useless battle make people understand
That some stupid disagreement over politics and land
Is a immoral and terrible reason to kill a fellow man.

27 March 2004