Sunday, December 04, 2005


There's nothing worse than riding in a hearse to a waiting grave, all dug out and saved just for you. And while the twenty-one gun salute gets set to shoot, mom and dad and sister Sue, wife and kids who loved you true, cry hysterically, there's nothing you can do but lie there in your box while diggers cover you with dirt and rocks.

Soon the ceremony's done and everyone in pain and sorrow goes home to face tomorrow.

That's how it goes when foes make heroes of the losers of a wasted war and a cause not worth fighting for. I, just one of thousands dead, were fed a lie to satisfy the war mongering gang in D, C, Now I sleep at their behest in nature's breast while the rest still alive await the fate that put us at St, Peter's gate.


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