Butcher the evil millionaire, peasant,
And leave him stinking in the square.
Torture the chancellor.
Leave the
Strung by his thumbs from the
Embassy wall, where the vines were.
Then drill your hogs and sons for another war.
Fire on the screaming crowd, ambassador,
Sick chancellor, brave millionaire,
And name them by the name that is your name.
Give privilege to the wound, and
The last resister.
Poison the
And mew for peace, for order, and for war.
View with alarm, participant, observer,
Buried in medals from the time before.
Whisper, then believe and serve and
And drape fresh bunting on the
From here to India.
This is the world you
When the wind blows fresh for war.
Hide in the dark alone, objector;
Ask a grenade what you are living for,
Or drink this knowledge from the mud.
To an abyss more terrible than
Descend and tunnel toward a
Away from anything that moves with blood.
