It's the Year of the Landshark.
Dry as sand--parched--damn, get these men some water.
They're out there being slaughtered
In meaningless wars so you don't have to bother
And can sit and soak the idiot box, trying to fuck their daughters.
Man, it's the Year of the Orphan.
Seated adjacent to the fireflies circling the torches on your porches.
Trying to guard the fortress of a king they've never seen or met
But all are trained to murder at the first sign of a threat.