Shiny plastic zip up suits,
You must login to vote
Backpack tanks, thick black boots,
No words, just death, hear it hiss,
Pull the trigger, never miss.
Two glass eyes reflect the sun,
On the ground where creatures run,
They want things clean, polished earth,
Bombs missed some, so they search.
A weeping man, pulled from his sleep,
out of his hole, onto his kness,
his head to feet, they grab his neck,
spray his face with the taste of death.
The work is done, they head on home,
forget the faces they left alone,
hands and toes, backs and heads,
above the mud, no words, just death.