UnEarthed Distortion

My death,A stranger lingering within,Creeping closer, and closer,We fight battling to the death for more,Blood,gore,with bullets of hate,anger,and rage,We fight,as we murder,and kill,But nothing stands in our way, As this land becomes ours for the taking,Once more bloodshed spills amongst the battlefield,And need we be creatures of habit wanting more,To protect our loved ones, Being the innocent with dreams,All this pain as an example,Life vs Death thats to be pondered by the young,Only to them,we are the green eyed monsters holding the gun,But with a hand cold to the touch,We think nothing of it,as its been severed off, With that,the feeling is closing in,We build more coffins for the dead again,For the pungent odors of lurking death, And the awful smell of rotting flesh,But to the dead we become consumed,Buried alive by the living again, foolish mortals,Nothing more then petty grievences,And a feeling of being lost alive themselves,A rose dies, But does it fade away,Our own lost love sent to damnation,For all those who died,Aiming for what,to be victorious over the other again,I think not said a young child with one wish and no sin,But if all life iteself has a cost,I ask you is life worth living,If it is ourselves that we destroy more and more,Thowing away our lives for nothing but ourselves within,And to think that we love our children enough,Even though it is said that we protect the other,The girl, the boy, and all this trouble for what,for nothing,But to condemn ourselves to our own world Written August 29th, 2001 © on Aug 29 2001 03:39 PM PST, Kade M   0 • 12