He sat in a chair,

unable to move,

a prisoner without name

in the jail of despair,

that rose high on the hill

of world circumstance,

surrounded by shouts

of the armies of night,

preparing for war

on bastions of peace,

and as they prepared

hot seas rose high,

angry skies flashed,

and all the stars wept,

for the millions to die,

the already slain,

as assassins and tyrants

claimed, with righteous disdain,

that it was all for our good,

that all would be well,

and silenced the few

who dared to protest.