Untitled Poem

Machine gun's barking in the rain
like Serbernard on a heavy chain
and bees are chorused around
the bullets are bees and targets have found.
laying in mud is the best one can do
the blood thirthty bees're looking for you, too
so they could gather some red-colored honey
as we are being butchered in this foreign valley
Laying in mud and totally wet
we are holding position and shooting,
you bet;her picture in pocket destroyed already
and mind mine darkens, but hand is still steady
My mother has told me that I should have never
chase bees as it wasn't so clever.
My mother has told me do never get dirty
and here I am drinking mud like I am thirthty
What kind of bee has stung me in chest
when did I feel this metallic taste?
The bee has destroyed the picture by heart
or have I received that flying dart?
Machine gun's been barking further away
Nothing does matter to me anyway.


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