I can't watch these young boys
Get drafted into war.
Bullet wounds and mental scars
Body blasted up to Mars.

I can't watch my best friends
Get shackled to a trench
Wrist bound, on the ground
Taken and sorely missed

Fighting for a cause
That they can't even name
Trump called up his war
And the press called up their names

Now they're stripped and stolen
No identity, no face
A rifle in their right hand
In the left a hand grenade

Left to suffocate in their thoughts
As player 2 takes aim
Finding stillness in the panic
Losing themselves in the game

And everyday they look back
And think of what their life could've been
Had the soulless imposter in office
Not taken life from them