Mars with a staff, eyes emblazoned, looks over the balcony of the world. God of War with a grudge to boot. The tragedy of the American Military Industrial Complex. I never wanted to be a soldier. Vietnam continues to stain this country in blood. Put on your X-Ray Spex and you can see it in the leaves of everything that grows here. There is something in my heart that knows truth. War is not truth. War is self-imposed Hell. I do not want to cast down my brother. My heart, so heavy at the thought. But I suppose violence must be a part of life as it is in the scientific mythos of how this world was born, this universe. Are we not just a reflection of our past experiences? You and me, made out of stardust, their violent births and deaths. There is a course running through my body, leading me to you, leading me to this moment before dawn. It knows the grooves, whittled and carved in marbleized driftwood, washed up on the shores of Time. Struggle to get the words right. Young Ares, so cocksure. Ego deceives, making you believes how easy it is to follow It and It alone.
