These fourteen men with lives about to unfold bolder than any fiction
An armed man stood fair centre-stage
Prepared to wage a most contemporary war
An eerie smirk which sets the scene, puts his every single lie upon an untold, subsequently unforgiving reel
Yet no-one sees nothing as of yet
Where he knows full well that his ‘brothers-in-arms’ will fall to their mis-timed deaths and all of his rather fascist accord
The threat being placed right before them even if they have yet to know it
So much as feel it
Their futile wits about to be side-windingly narrowed to within a blasphemous inch
When they believe that they too can be the very ones who get to quench these flames of discordance, unanimous pain
Ready to rain down upon oh so hurtfully
A locker holding all of their cared for belongings
This Menilmontant war will harass each and every last one of them ’til their twenty-five sons and daughters become the only ones who truly get to feel all of it

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