Infant Games

As the shots on the horizon sound of melodically,
Something within me splinters;
I dawdle on throughout the pasture
With not a shattered bone but a fractured soul.

To think, we're fighting amongst ourselves;
A child's bicker match led not by infants but magistrates.

Why must we fight their battles for them?
Let the cowards know what it's like to have an arrow through the temple.

They've traded sticks for steel,
and snow for iron.
Why must we fight their battles for them?