I feel the irony of life's nurturing molestation with painfully sweet romantic rejection
The Weapon driven home comfortably
In the womb of a moment's passing silence under big, green umbrellas
Outside a little cafe as the rain softly patterns
On the shiny brand new tanks and thousands of armor-piercing rounds, stacked high,
Right next door to dollies with blonde hair and blue eyes
While puppies yelp and wag their tails, nostrils flaring,
At the smell of the sulfur and tears mixing with soot from the smoke stacks
As our children pray for the bombs to cease their taunting cackle
So they might curl beneath their blankets hoping perhaps this year
They saw on television right after the anti-violence commercial
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