In the house of helmets
I stood with my hands
on my head being
as I was felt-up
by a cold piece
of shrapnel what is
the origin of that
can you picture
the heads they
were filled with
one face read
beware young folks
your fathers ripped
you off several items
from each war
I can feel them in
the room around us
having gotten so used
to us beating them
they can only sob
and moan.
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