Factory worker

Variations in absurdities
just nothing
to lose about the false motherland
Foreign Muskets
loaded, fired,
in the line of fire
they lose their lives
In vapors of smoke
from the barrels
they lose sight.
Bathing in a hail of bullets.
For years
I didn’t cry in front of anybody,
but the night after the last battle
even my eyes got wet.
Marching music in the famous orchestra
The terror I saw is accompanied by playful sounds;
Music that covers the cries of the wounded
and the galloping is skilfully woven into the melody.
It almost looks like it supposed to be that way.
Serves its purpose regardless
it is just, what sets the rhythm for the men.
that you can follow when you shoot.
Drum roll underlaid with rifle bang
I’ll swap the
the fate of the kingdom in an instant for a horse;
essentially; I escape from hell on earth
But deserters
will be shot, as you know.
and their bodies publicly laid out as monuments
and shamed on what not to do.

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