Death of war

(Brock / Rowntree) Ebbing eyesight in chlorine clouds stealing away barbed wire shrouds mowed down in mud by machine gun fire trapped and strangled in barbed wire silent nights smashed as big guns fill bodies full of shrapnel in their crusade to kill Far away, politicians, glasses of port meet in a toast to a war they've not fought Holy fire directed and idly discussed manufacturing hatred, engineering distrust trading clarity for confusion, the ruthless powerlust. Only one thing in common do leaders share with those on the battlefield fallen down everywhere and that is their wine, has good body and it is red draining away forever like the blood of those dead.