Childish Misconceptions

I miss those rose-tinted days in the sun,

When fighting with wooden swords was a game.

No matter how many times we’d been slain,

We’d just stand up and go back to square one.

Back then, the war, to us, was exciting;

Being a soldier was a fine honour.

Or becoming a knight addressed as ‘sir’.

We never imagined death as something.

Now that I’ve seen it with my own two eyes,

I want no part in it any longer.

Keep the despair, the cries, and the somber.

Bring me back to my homely paradise.


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