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'Wartime (Or Sometime Between Opposable Thumbs and The Sun's Explosion, A Pity.)' by Amelia Simmons.

And the people have always been at war

And the people have never been to war

And the people will March

And the people will be angry

And the people will not care

And the people will shout from rooftops

And the people will hide in basements

And the people will freeze on mountains

And the people will burn underground

And the people will drown in the deserts

And the people will starve in the fields

And the people will smear blood on their doors

And the people will streak mud on their cheeks

And the people will board up their windows

And the people will open their homes

And the people will throw their hands in the air

And the people with throw hands at their brothers

And the people will take orders

And the people will split hairs

And the people will split atoms

And the people will sew diamonds in their coats

And the people will place pennies on their tongues

And the people will say they are not those people

And the people will become those people

And the people will make guns

And the people will make art

And the people will sing

And the people will shush

And the people will buy milk and toilet paper

And the people will sell silk and silence

And the people will hang the mirror

And the people will hang the executioner

And the people will play cards

And the people will draw lots


And the people will die for nothing

And the people will die for it all

And the people will kill for nothing

And the people will kill for it all.

And the people will live for each other

And the people will live for piles of ash.


The people will make no difference

And the people will make all the difference

in the world.

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