The War of Brothers

Blood litters a grassy battle field
The blood of my brothers
Men of the same family fighting against one another
Guns fire
A symbol of the child's cry
A man falls shot down by a man of the same country
What is this madness?
Why do we kill one another?
Death, a warriors cry into the cold night
They call it 'Civil' I call it Hell.

Pale Horse

 

Death sits on my back

Scythe in hand

I fly through the air

Hooves off the ground

Where we are going,
I don’t know

He feels cold like ice

Like my death was

Cold

I don’t know much of it

My death

But I do know that

I am death’s pale horse

And he is my dark rider.