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Thru eyes burnt on phosgene

A sphere of death is seen

Trenches like Graves

Mass Graves

Lulled by the crack of gunfire

Awoken by the gift of death

Reduced to a white crosses

What's left is in caskets

Home dosnt feel the pain

The inhuman desire

Home won't feel the same

For those who survive

I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow - Erich Maria Remarque