The scariest thing, what if peace broke out?
Imagine how many fat bottom lines
Would weep from hunger, cry from lack of gain,
Flail at the gross unfairness of it all.
The next thing you know, some Marxist dogs
Would want to give the savings to the young,
The sick or needy to enhance their lives
As if those lives mattered, as if we should care.
What’s wrong with killing in the name of gain
Dressed up as freedom or existential threat?
No one is innocent if they block the way
To obscene profits, ever greater wealth.
Kill them all but never show their mangled limbs.
The horror is a few killed with a knife.
Tens of thousands, families in their homes,
If they die from high explosives, so what!
The nice news folks tell the crafted tale
To make their sponsors proud, sell the next big thing,
Whiter teeth, less flab, a truck you just don’t need.
Forget those thousands dead. They’re not like you.
Listen instead to the boasting psychopaths
Tout grotesque ordnance and heroic troops
Until the latter claim service injury
And become lying scum, afraid to work.
Our enemies increase year by bloody year.
We’ll never run out. Big budgets, more gore.
The goal, as the ancient Roman said so well:
To make a wasteland and call it peace.
