Is this not the life you left behind?
Where death was cocked in the barrel of your gun, death you left when the war was done.

Is this not the life you wanted?
America, freedom, that siren song that swept you from family for two years long.

Was it not worth it?
Those lonesome two years of back breaking toil, when family rejoined you on American soil.

Was it not wonderful?
That farm which laughed with life and color, home it was still life has a brother.

Were you not aware?
Her sanity depended on the ability to speak, but tongue tied before them what friends could she meet.

Were you not angry?
When your shriveled blossom was dragged away, and your passion for life did not stay.

Is this not the life you left behind?
Where death was cocked in the barrel of your gun, this battle it seams death has won.

For this is the land you created, where a mad woman screamed and angles still sing. For death.