Now comes war with head held high In her red raiment rearing to ride! All adorned with armor and steel A plague of bloodlust thats unreal To victory, to madness, the eager go The meat grinder of violent souls A pyre for worms, the frenzy of years A great bonfire becomes The sum of all fears. What ends do they charge to but hope, the ideal to kill, and be killed, on the star spangled fields! A flag is their cloth, to cover their kind The bodies mangled like contortionists in prayers to self-destructive mankind. Individuals Out of reasons, out of time. Those who collected themselves, the mass of the dead and those who lost their collective minds. War gentles nations, each after his own Till borders become tomb and tome dedicated to past glory, empires that were infinite in faculty, age, and form. Till old war, she came whoring, to bring out the dead Great millions lost their cool, and so lost their heads. Driven by calls of 'cowardice' or vein glory and bloodshed In unnamed fields where they still push up daisies From unmarked flower beds.