Salute! Sirens!

Sanguine individualists in cafés sunlit.
Blood and bells! Belittling French flags
stem flacid out of a crusty piece of flan.
While his brother´s mother was bent over,
washing war medals with her tears,
Good ol Oscar was dreaming up lines
and tossing back beers

He penned his final draft and
still he could not write
¨When the war was over
the people forgot their strife¨
Working through the civil war,
for ol humble, lovable Earnest
whose fairy tales of bars and girls
gave smiles to the sternest

So when I look to words alone
to whet my bitter, war-torn thirst,
I remember when the brutes sacked Rome,
They hung the lawyers first.

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