Boys put down their toys and were given real guns
Mothers cried as their babies were sent away
Each day we check the mail in fear of a loved one being chosen
Each day we wondered whose son would be next
They feared their baby boy would not return to live another day
Instead of playing army in the woods with finger guns
They play a game of life or death
But the game is rigged and death will always win
Whether by starvation or bullet wounds
They knew they would not come home
Letters frantically sent to their sons
But the only reply being a flag folded and an empty casket
Unmarked graves for the ones left behind
Nightmares filled with memories for the ones who made it home.

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