As for this war, you all must know what must happen, or should, I get it on my screen every day lately, the face is screaming, as if death descends is descending, the cards played, keep playing, room falling into pieces, just keep on spinning, a charade, with soldiers in a charade, a poorly written play, not Tolstoy, nor Stalin, its gone past that, trees burn with documents, now empty burning fast into solid entropy, says stop playing, stop the blood flowing like a river of brothers, sisters, children, it's too real, too heart breaking, with new improved machines, for nothing but rule, and its burnt, and the pride already damaged, the land and its inhabitants, its buildings, broken and disturbed.