The wire gets longer as it turns,

Wrapping itself around the face of time.

It is too thin to walk on and too long to swing from,

So either way you cannot win.

It runs past houses and bursts through doors,

Smashing lives into splinters of wood

As it leaves a trail by scratchng out

Pictures of men holding flags.

It's sharp at places and cuts like a knife,

And pierces through flesh to open old wounds.

It leaves a design that has been put on graves,

But many of them did not need it.

It should be on one grave,

A grave we all want to see.

On the grave of war,

So our children don't have to live like you or me.