War

You desperately try to hold on

It all just seems so tempting

But gasoline is dripping through your fingers

Your hands are much to clumsy

Beautiful you say

It seems appropriate doesn't it?

When you planned it,

didn't it?

The homemade soldiers

Fight their war at sunset

Sending cocktail bombs into the hazy sky

They planned every breath and step

Their intent was not so dangerous I fear

As yours was that summer night

For they never lied about intentions

And they never felt remorse

But remorse is all that taints you

Now the cotton t-shirt that divided us

Is where the frontline has been drawn.