Blood on His Hands
A politician told a lie
Which meant a soldier had to die -
His blood is crying from the ground
But the politician hears no sound,
He's safe and cosy far away
And hopes that they'll increase his pay.
You probably gave him your vote,
But this is not a time to gloat.
He told us he was 'a straight kinda guy'
And that he'd never tell a lie.
You may forget the soldier's name,
But his parents know just who to blame,
Their son will never see Tomorrow
And nothing can assuage their sorrow,
Life and death are not a game,
They're sick of Tony and his fame....
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Added by Poetry Lover
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