A half a percent?
One wonders where it all ceases.
We're told to believe
It's some kind of calling.
It all ends up economic.
With all of the pomp
And rhetorical nonsense,
The war drums persist, metronomic.
What would be wrong
With an ethos of peace
Without all the violence preceding?
Before there can be
Compassion and loving,
There has to be crying and bleeding.
The lie is, by now,
Three thousand years old.
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