(XLII) Are What We See
Gunshots can be heard
From miles away.
The work that needs to be done
Keeps the grief at bay.
Blood spills across the gravel,
As the wars keep raging forth.
Windows are shut tight,
As the armies march North.
All is lost,
When the shots , 1, 2, 3
Ring out into the air
And the dead are what we see.
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