Warmongers,
I have often heard it said that War is simply old men quarrelling and young men dying!
I hear them now, these ancient reptiles,
masters of diatribe, in one breath they  say one nation, in the next they speak of war,
they speak as though any of them could determine who would live and who would not; who might win and who might not,

Warmongers,
I can hear them, these valkyries of yore,
rattling their rusty sabres and chanting time worn war songs, they draw up stratagem and marshal their arsenal, I hear them and I wonder, Have they forgotten so soon, these senile roosters, it wasn’t so long ago that the rising sun hid her face for the sake of her children  was it?

Warmongers,
I hear them and I wonder, these walking cadavers,
Have they smelt the nauseous fragrance of rigor mortis as it rises in morbid effervescence from desecrated flesh?
Have they heard the deafening silence of yesterday's battleground, punctuated only by the cackling of the bald headed one?

Warmongers…[/b]I hear them, these Incubus…
Speaking boastfully of a war they do not have a stomach for…calling for bloodshed their sons will not partake of. Their cause is not noble, evil is in their hearts as they stir up violence …their only religion is greed; their only god, their belly.

[b]Warmongers…I hear them…

… and I pray for the children