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KatynIn the forest, beneath the trees
Another man falls to his knees
No headstones or crosses on the graves
For that's "reserved for the brave"
But privileged to be buried with many
The body count far over twenty...
Gagged, tied, bound
They dare not utter a sound
For if they try,
Just close your eyes,
And wait for the ‘bang!’
One bullet through the head,
One more falls down dead
Rinse, reload, repeat
To the streets
In the forest, beneath the trees
Another man falls to his knees...
“Make sure no words get out
To the streets...”
FINAL GOODBYEI used to use this song to help me cope with the loss of my beloved husband, I wish to now make a final tribute to the little Plato I love so much, thanks for all your love. Audra.
"Looks Like Rain"
by The Grateful Dead
Awoke today, felt your side of the bed;
The covers were still warm where you been layin'.
You were gone, oh gone, my heart was filled with dread;
You might not be sleeping here again.
But it's alright cause I love you, and that's not going to change.
Run me around and make me hurt again and again.
But I'll still sing you love songs, written in the letters of your name.
The rain is gonna come, oh it surely looks like rain
Did you ever waken to the sound of street cats making love?
You guess from the cries you were listening to a fight.
Well you know, oh know, haste is the last thing they're thinking of.
You know they're only tryin' to make it thru the night.
I only want to hold you, I don't want to tie you down
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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