[b]Locusts[/b]
A cloud appears over the horizon, approaching rapidly.
A cloud not of water, but of flesh and steel and oil.
It comes through the air and creeps over land and sea.
We’ve seen it coming for neigh on a year, yet we can only stare vapidly.
Ten-thousand feet below, the wakes force the sea into a boil.
Hundreds, nay, thousands of blades thrash the air into a roar.
Just one last time I think of the upcoming turmoil,
The battle that begins the moment I set my foot in the soil.
Sitting at home, our detestment leaves us sore.
Are there no better means to meet these ends?
And yet I sit there, thinking of the forthcoming loss of life I abhor.
Even so, try as I might, I find no better solution than war.
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:colbert:
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