They say there might be a war
but I don’t know, I mean,
I can hear all the big guys
saying crazy stuff
but I’m just not sure there are
enough of us nowadays
willing to head off, hey ho,
hey ho, it’s off to war
we go, and watch our own
innards unspool on our lap.
Whenever it is winter
I am young again,
the cold air is the same air
I inspired the time
the trees first spoke; of course
there’ll always be a bunch
of god jobs blowing themselves
up but I’ve got a hunch
that they’re a dying breed.
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