I feel asleep to the sound of
Marching bands,
Heavy feet, and clicking rifles;
The smell of gunpowder down my throat,
Heavy and sweet
Like a dinner wine,
Comfort out of habit,
And now I'm leaving to love the war.
The battle calls, the victory;
I've stood on both sides.
Every man a fatality;
Every woman an old friend,
Cushioned or crushed by the weight
Of their own maiden name.
I heard mine called out,
Hollow in the rotunda,
Heavy at the bottom of a pool,
And deep in the catacombs.
Older than this thick skin,
I've found myself stick thin,
But now I'm learning to love the war.