The pages of history drip
With the redness of pain
But perturbation won’t get a grip
On the yellowness of my pen
A look into the past invokes sordid
Memories of cruelty and misdeeds.
The red army’s venture into the future
Is a futile attempt to escape nature
And the war madness of the present,
For the insatiable and vile muzzles
That feed on human flesh and muscles
Are still hungry for more evil hustles
An embodiment of this generation,
Is sadly slipping into oblivion,
And effectively being put out
By a new breed of people without
Much civility or a sense of history
And any time-honored responsibility
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