Rotten corpses and a glass of water,
Peace and dreadful scars,
Silence...
Hypocrisy lurks, clowns dancing dead,
Poisonous waves, cloudy eyeballs,
Soldiers and apples hanging
Together in the same tree...
Dust in the wings, blooming roses,
Burnt villages, soft wormy skin,
"Gott Mit Uns"... Belts...
Picked fences, dirty rivers,
Paradoxically entwined,
Red rain, orange skies...
Broken bones, a lip but no head...
How soon is now?
Neverending stories,
Black haired ladies flying,
Eyeless witnesses,
Blind rifles,
Muted sirens...
Mud on the left hands,
Green meat and stench,
Stalled houses,
No smoke emerging from the horns,
A creeping hand (STOOOOOP!
This ain't right, man!
This ain't supposed to be!
What'ya mean?
U said they all should be dead!
The bombs cleaned up all!
No moving stuff should be there at all!
...Well, ok, go on!)
A creeping hand
Holding a yet functioning pistol
Is still moving
To meet some destiny sometimes...
A blinking misty eye
Rotates slowly, targetting, seeking...
The other was there
Caressing a 62% burnt tree:
His left ear - a mixture of dust
And cold blood,
His right foot - missing,
His hand (nevermind which one)
Stuck on the grenade...
Three feet distance between
And an eternity of hate...
One hand rises,
The other goes soft,
One hand pushes a trigger,
The other pulls a ring,
The pistol fires,
The grenade detonates...
And back from the beginning.
(The war isn't over, though...)