war in a time of ''peace''
cold calculated maths like war within phographs, the fires burn but do not dance, smoke blinds you from the trance. you turn the page they round the gage, numbers not names of who they kill, and war though it maybe still, all the same it taints our soul, smog that doesn't come from coal, photgraphs fade but our memories remain, our fathers lost so that we might gain.