The time brought many a corrupt thing with it
We were nestled on up inside of our wicker-work homes when these steadfastly emblazoned soldiers came – hot on wheels, peeling our pretty clandestine appearances to ricochet smithereens
We never really saw any of it coming
Strutting our carefree belongings, strong and resilient – precision a thing which needed to be alarmingly obvious to them either way
To them, to us, however much willing they were to destroy all of it
Our utterly forlorn children – pillows disguising these pretty albeit shuddering faces – believing these men to be blown up versions of cartoon-like plastic soldiers
The bullets covered in atrocious disdain – with eyes on – prepared to rain down
Flying by our early a.m. windows
Every which way
Predisposed unofficially
Precariously stood right here, one ear to the ground, awaiting the sound of rather tethered footsteps time and time
Ill-equipped, stripped to the bones of our Northern beings, ready to fight for the glory of our every home
When twenty-six will never even become thirty-one
You can leave our fine county right alone

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