Men burning alive in a church don’t bleed
They burn
The bells ring out slowly, meditatively
Through the cold still air
And you can see the soldiers
Rifles over their shoulders
Worn soles disturbing the fresh snow
Rolling the last of tobacco and lint
From the corners of their pockets
Chapped and bleeding lips
Full of blue exhaling haze
There is no one to kill
As they slowly die
And their lives are a film
Black and white and full of church bells
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