Array ( [sid] => 69683 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The fields where we die [time] => 2004-11-01 14:09:26 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Go to the fields with the gun in hand.
Stand in the grass and take the last breath.
Pull the triggor and the nightmare stops.
Fall to the field... bleed on the grass... hole in the head.
Sky lights up and the angels doth cry.
Dead in the field, soul in the sky.
Nobody cares, their loved one is dead.
There they will stay sprawled in the field.
Out to the field all go to die.
Take out their guns... all joined in the sky [comments] => 2 [counter] => 171 [topic] => 13 [informant] => surge_joebot [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - The fields where we die


The fields where we die
Date: Monday, 1st November 2004 @ 02:09:26 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: surge_joebot
Go to the fields with the gun in hand.
Stand in the grass and take the last breath.
Pull the triggor and the nightmare stops.
Fall to the field... bleed on the grass... hole in the head.
Sky lights up and the angels doth cry.
Dead in the field, soul in the sky.
Nobody cares, their loved one is dead.
There they will stay sprawled in the field.
Out to the field all go to die.
Take out their guns... all joined in the sky

This poem is Copyright © surge_joebot


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