Common Cause

They die for their cause,

We die for ours;

Our deaths are propitiated

Like those of star-crossed lovers.


They kill us,

We kill them;

They win some,

We win some.


Thus we shun the cowardice

Of a pusillanimous peace;

Heroes do not fold their arms—

They die in bloodied grace.


There are those who would conclude

Our dance of kindred hate

In some petty, effeminate truce

That belittles our heroic fate;


Thus our respective national pride

Is our adrenaline feeder;

We die so our petty lives may have

Some value for our mighty leader.


There will be time for that embrace

With the enemy I just killed

When in a promised paradise

A common field is tilled.

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