The War

How can that man stand high on that hill
Watching has he sends out men to kill

How can he have laughter, fun and joy
When he thinks of the familys he is to destroy

How can he dream and sleep at night
When all this pain and sorrow he did ignite

Men, woman and children have died
And still he only feels his destructive pride

Has he sends out those terrible guns
There will be no more husbands, brothers or sons

Has so much blood is awfully scattered
Those poor familys are left to shattered

This man still feels no contrite
so more armys are forced to fight

The pure white shirts will turn to red
and much more pain will then be bred.