Land is the canvas on which war is painted;
War: the product of minds tainted.
Deluded with delusions of self-grandeur,
And couched in feelings of splendour,
Men will claim their gods in candour,
And ask for valour to fight their contenders.
The points they fight upon are ownership
And the memories of an ignorant few;
They'll claim their spoils for themselves
And cite the texts that grant them their actions.
When every last square yard has been claimed,
And every spot is peppered with their ruddy, vessel-bound fuel,
Maybe then they'll rest easy.
Maybe then they'll know the actions of fools.