First there is the song of WAR that rises,
boils, and gurgles in the pumping blood.
Sing O Argives cross the dusty plains
of Troy a shout of joy-To kill! To kill!
Such glorious joy the blood to spill.
To read the fear in enemies eyes
as entrails spill like treasure in the trench.
Sing the songs of bloody ecstasy.
Those razored words will cut the hardest steel.
Let the axe sing in the morning bright
and swords ring out like bells against the shields.
These words are hacked into the hearts of youth:
It is a fine day on which to die,
And anyway who wants to live forever?
Ride her hard: Remember to die young!
Go see the world, and blow the fucker up!
Fear is for the others: Fear is bad!
Hear them screaming for their mother’s arms,
and take joy in the tears of cursed foes.
We are over here, and they are over
there. C’mon boys let’s do the bastards!
Rape as an act of war is not so bad,
and bashing out those babies brains was good!
Now we rain down arrows from the moon;
We have contracted Death himself to our clan,
though it must be said he’s mercenary;
he’ll do both sides business for a song.
And deep within the caverns underground
Or in the stars of death, spinning in space;
war is woven in the dreams of hollow men.
Iliads spill out of crooked looms.
Assassins seek the sons of Omeros
Who sings of warriors as idiots and fools.
Their fearful verses drown the battle-crys,
make burning pyres of all their vacant flags,
and tear their uniforms to tumbling rags.