The Hounds of Mars

The gold of our blood

The silver of our tears

Spilt like fine wine

On the altars of Mars

That rich men may profit

When they bay for war

Or call in the hounds

To pursue our debts

Those foolish enough

To take the allure

And become the bait

Over which usury drools

And render ourselves, slaves

To their eternal hunger

Not even the planet earth

Or our lives we prepare

Is banquet rich enough

What have we unleashed?

Cheung-Ling Wong

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