A billboard on the street tells us who we are:
"God, guns, guts & glory" - and what man could want more?
On another street, the signs are just as clear:
Stake your lives for Allah in the mighty path of war.
It's war that gives men purpose.
War fulfills men's dreams.
Wars force the idle hands at play
to work life & death schemes.
War defends the women
against the warring men.
War kills for the children
so they'll be safe again.
Peace breeds easy living
that spoils our hearts and souls.
Peace brings corrupting happiness
in simple, low-life goals.
Peace welcomes in a garden
and fruit-trees and old women,
their stories' gentle wisdom,
philosophy of old men.
War is always in a rush
to burn its path much higher;
its words a fever-eloquence,
fodder for the fire.
There's men inside the planning rooms
and men who shed their blood
and women's blood dismissed as tears
and women plowing mud.
I'm sure the night is inside out
the moment sky turns day.
I'm sure the rabbit nibbles grass
until his heart's the prey.
I'm sure there is a purpose here
that we're all living for:
To live, to breed, to contemplate,
Then kill ourselves in war.
