He's got the hang
Of swift, clean strife.
He's ready to save
Our way of life.
There's no hard hate
In his laughing eyes,
But he'll let them in
For a big surprise.
He'll spike the belly
Of any foe
and sicken to see
The hot blood flow.
He'll give their guts
A tortured twist
And cry to God
That he might have missed.
He'll make a corpse
Of a mother's son
And curse the day
That made HIM one.
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