Consider the sadness of the dead
when Gods that final truth supply
as boon for lives unfairly shed
in service to persuasive lie.

Do they envy the fallen few
embalmed with poison of the truth
partook while sat in chapel pew
or sniffed while in their voting booth?

Do they impatient, count the days
until they meet again the liar
who justified his war and preys
on young to stoke in Ares pyre?

Do they despise their coffin's flag
or covet the colors of their foe
and wonder if dead men should brag
or now more calm, their bold outgrow?