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The pillars of smoke rise to hold
A table of dark granite and ash
Where the lords of war watch, calculated and cold
At men maim maul and gash
Any men, women and children around
Turning the planet, the hills and the valleys crimson red
And any cry of pain is drowned
By the war machines mighty tread

The machine is controlled by need
To control, take or dominate
But sometimes there is a motive other than greed
It may be to find, torture or exterminate
A certain race group or minority
By creating a campaign of slaughter
Committed by the majority
To the tune of the war machine’s laughter.

Josh