Sons of Adam
OST. OSS. SOS. CIA. NSA. Join the cause. Fight the fight. Root out the enemy.
A pinch to grow on. A cauterized wound. Germ warfare, sterilized gauze, a good cause, good luck, spin the wheel, pull the trigger, write home to mother, tell her you gave it your best shot but missed. Just do it.
The red cross, the red menace, the red army, the raging bull.
You first, I’ll be along presently. Keep an eye out for trip mines.
Stunned disappointment, clobbered defeat, watch out for the maniacs, pop some pills.
Shake and bake, roll the dice, cut the corner, cut the crap, call the coroner with the outlandish stethoscope to get a read on your broken heart.
Vengeance is mine said the Almighty to the Five-star General. Let’s make a pact and go after them.
Bang-bang and the moment passes, the cloud cover lifts and in come the fighter jets to level the playing field.
None of this precludes growing tomatoes, potting your plants, hedging your bets. Let the word go forth.
Are you listening? Are you paying close attention? Have you got your sleeves rolled up? Are your temples pounding? That’s a start, now the real work begins. Twice around the courtyard and then down into the tunnels. No, you can’t bring your flashlight and your compass. Are we going to do this thing or not?
Rush forward, sons of Adam, into the raging inferno.
